


Astral Projection

by nerdylittledude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: warning: homophobic language/violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is in a boyband with his twin brother, Jimmy, and Dean is a closet fanboy with a sexuality crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Problem

**Author's Note:**

> ~~... also known as, the boyband au that almost happened! Just posting for curious readers. It's not finished and probably never will be. Be warned, it cuts off right in the middle of a scene. I literally just copy and pasted whatever was in the document >>~~ 
> 
> There are a million other things I should be writing, but instead I'm continuing this friggin boyband au! I really need to sort out my priorities, but I think I'm going to try and update this faithfully once a week. Chapters will be short, but hopefully worth reading!
> 
> Also - I need a beta for this story, please let me know on [tumblr](http://nerdylittledude.tumblr.com/ask) if you're interested.
> 
> also, please use the tumblr tag #astralprojectionverse when you want me to see a post about the series! Updates will also be located under that tag.

**Dean**

The first time Dean hears about the boyband Astral Projection, they’re on his TV in high definition, clad in douchey outfits and answering the questions of an overly zealous interviewer. There’s five of them, and Dean decides instantly that they’re all gay. All of them. Naturally, Dean finds gay guys extremely amusing – he’s lead hitter on the school baseball team; dumping queer kids in dumpsters is practically his job. Ready for a good laugh, Dean settles into the couch with a bowl of popcorn and turns up the volume.

“All this fame must be pretty exciting,” the peppy, blonde interviewer says, “you’re all pretty young to be pop stars. The oldest of you is… what, 20?”

“Nineteen,” one of them corrects easily. He’s short, shorter than the others, with slicked back sandy brown hair and a cocky grin. Dean notes vaguely that the guy seems pretty hetero, but he’s in a boyband so he’s gay by default. “I know, I know – I’m the shortest, no one believes I’m the oldest. But I am! Also the most handsome.”

“You’ll have to excuse Gabriel’s ego,” another of the boys says with a roll of his eyes. He’s got spiky blonde hair and a strong jawline. Dean tries to ignore the fact that he’s noticing facial bone structure – because, seriously, _gay._ “Napoleon complex, actually.” The blonde grins at Gabriel, who sticks his tongue out at him. The interviewer laughs.

“Your fans sure do love the banter you all have with one another. You guys get along pretty well, huh?” Dean snorts. These questions are so scripted it’s almost painful. Thankfully, the boys’ answers don’t seem to be.

“Us and the fans?” a third member jokes, smiling with perfect, bright white teeth. His shirt is tight and shows off ripped biceps that make or may not be even better than Dean’s. His black hair is very short, almost army buzzed – Dean figures he’s the most hetero, of the five. Not that it matters. Still gay. “Yeah, we’re pretty close.”

A chorus of shrill female cheers resounds from the unseen audience off screen, and four of the five boys grin. The interviewer laughs.

“Seems like most people here know you all pretty well – but for inquiring minds that _don’t_ , why don’t you all introduce yourselves? Tell us your names! And when you do, why don’t you answer the first question? Fans all over have been tweeting questions for you boys to answer. First one – what’s your favorite vegetable?”

Dean groans. He’ll never understand why chicks dig fruity guys and why they want to know the _weirdest shit_ about them. Dean’s got half the girls at school wrapped around his finger, and no one’s asked _him_ what his favorite vegetable is.

The short guy goes first. “As all you lovely ladies know – ” and there’s ridiculous screaming from the crowd “- my name’s Gabriel. And I hate vegetables. I love candy. Why do I have to pick one?” Dean cannot believe that these guys are actually answering this question. It’s almost painful to watch. He laughs out loud as he stuffs popcorn in his mouth.

“I’m Luke,” says the blonde one next, “and I like carrots, now that I think about it.” Dean laughs, because carrots are big and long and it’s enough for Dean to be amused.

“Carrots? How bout carrot cake?” the interviewer asks, and Dean seriously wishes he could slap her through the screen. He hates talk show hosts. They say the stupidest shit to keep the conversation going. Seriously – _vegetables?_

“Pretty much anything with carrots,” Luke says, shrugging and smiling that stupid boyband smile they all seem to have.

“I’m Michael,” the next one says, “ _and_ I’m willing to bet one of the audience members already knows what my favorite vegetable is.”

There’s a ton of crazy girl screaming after that, and the interviewer looks vaguely panicked for a split second. Dean thinks he sees her nod – probably to some production person off screen – and then her winning talk show host smile is back.

“Well, let’s get one of them up here! Who knows Michael’s favorite vegetable?”

Dean throws popcorn at the TV.

“This is stupid,” he informs the inanimate object indignantly and grabs the remote. He channel surfs through everything, looking for something to ease his bruised manliness, but after a couple minutes he finds himself back on the stupid show. They’re onto the last member.

“And this is my brother, Castiel,” one of the last two is saying. Dean double takes – he hadn’t noticed the last two were twins. Identical twins.

The interviewer looks confused. “Er, thanks for the introduction, Jimmy. Castiel – what’s your favorite vegetable?”

Castiel gives Jimmy an indecipherable look. “It’s broccoli,” Jimmy answers for him, “Same as mine.”

“Doesn’t he talk? We all know he can sing!” The interviewer says, and the crowd cheers its assent.

Jimmy frowns.

“He talks when there’s something worth saying,” Jimmy says with a shrug and an easy smile. This is weird as hell. This guy is a mute in a boyband? Dean forgets to be looking for gay shit to laugh at. He’s suddenly very curious about this guy.

The half hour interview consists of a zillion equally stupid questions, all sent from Twitter fangirls. Dean is glad no one’s home, now, because he’s watched the whole damn thing.

“So, Castiel, I hear you’re pretty popular with the shyer, bookworm type fans,” the interviewer says at one point. “What’s that like?”

Castiel simply stares at her blankly. “I am?” he asks, tilting his head with such genuine confusion that it’s obvious he seriously didn’t know that. Somewhere, a publicist is probably cringing. And _ouch_ to all the bookworm fangirls who are getting reaffirmed yet again that they don’t exist. Not that Dean cares; he’s so high up on the high school totem pole that they pretty much don’t exist to him, either. He decides that Castiel is kind of badass.

The last question asks about all the guys’ first girlfriends. Or, as Dean muses, _gay beards_. They all have anecdotes that are witty and interesting – not that Dean’s acknowledging that or anything – but he’s most looking forward to Castiel’s answer, if he deigns it worth a reply. Jimmy gives Castiel an inexplicably apprehensive look after his own story, and they seem to have some sort of freaky twin conversation with their eyes.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” Castiel says after a weirdly long moment of them staring at each other, “I’m not interested in girls.”

Dean gapes. On screen, you could hear a pin drop. Jimmy leans back in his chair and sighs, and the other three exchange amused glances. The interviewer looks flustered, but, to her credit, she plows on with a feigned laugh that is _almost_ convincing.

“And how can you be, always being on the road like you guys are? It must be so stressful! Who has time for girls with a schedule like yours?” The guys all laugh, with the exception of Castiel, who’s glaring daggers at the woman. Dean’s mouth is still hanging wide open.

 “Everyone give Astral Projection a round of applause! They’ll be performing their hit song ‘Free To Be You and Me’ after the break!”

Dean shuts off the TV and stares at the blank, black screen.

His face and ears are inexplicably warm, and it feels like unseen things are itching under his skin. He sits back into the couch cushions, frowning as his stomach does strange flips. It takes a minute to understand the feeling, and then –

_Ohgodohgodohgod._

Dean realizes it with a punch: he’s doing _it_ again.

“No, Dean, don’t do this shit,” Dean tells himself firmly, out loud even, standing to his feet and heading swiftly toward his room. “Get your head in the game. This isn’t _you._ ” His laptop is sitting on his bed and he practically pounces on it, tapping it awake impatiently. This is not happening again.

Dean knows this feeling. He hates that it’s familiar. But… the lurch in his stomach when this boyband guy essentially outed himself? It was _hopeful_. Hopeful in the same way that Brad Pitt fangirls get excited when he and Angelina break up, even if they know they’ll never get a shot. Dean should be smirking at this gay guy, or pretending to gag – not this. Anything but this.

Dean’s laptop comes alive and Dean opens about four different windows full of _Busty Asian Beauties_ porn sites. He figures some definitively heterosexual activity will clear him of this… whatever this is. It’s not the first time this has happened. Dean always… deals with it, this thing he has sometimes. It’s completely under control.

Dean’s _not_ gay. He just…

… has a problem.

*

It’s about a month after Dean manages to stop dreaming about blue-eyed, scruffy-haired twins that Dean even thinks about Astral Projection again. This time he’s in a supermarket with Sammy, doing groceries for the umpteenth time because his deadbeat dad is yet again unconscious on the couch in a drunken stupor, and the fridge is empty. After a ridiculous amount of whining from Sam – the guy is seriously too old at thirteen to be able to have such a convincing puppy dog face – Dean relents and lets him get his stupid mint chocolate chip ice cream. Dean _hates_ mint ice cream, and they can really only afford to get one, but he figures Sam can win this round. So Dean’s in line at the register and Sam is speeding through the store to collect his last minute treasure.

Dean’s absently glancing through the magazines they keep in the register line without much interest. The latest celebrity gossip isn’t exactly something he’s concerned with, but it’s better than focusing on how obnoxiously long the line is. The headlines say that Brangelina have broken up again (what else is new?), the president is apparently harboring a secret lover (false, obviously), and Oprah has likely broken the record for how many times one person can be on the same magazine cover. All in all, everything is quite dull – that is, until Dean sees it.

Astral Projection is on the cover of some dumb teen girls’ magazine. His face is warm instantly – _just_  like that – and his brain goes into a chorus of ‘ _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’_ because this just isn’t fair. The boys are all wearing bright million dollar smiles, even Castiel. They’re all falling all over each other, probably laughing from the looks of it. The picture is all motion; the photographer must have been skilled, to have gotten it without a blur. Each boy is wearing sinfully tight pants of varying colors and Dean can feel his ears going red.

Dean is not sure what on Earth possesses him right then, but he grabs the damn magazine and adds it to the cart. He shoves it deep beneath the groceries and runs a hand through his hair nervously, looking around quickly, wrought with sudden and overwhelming paranoia. He practically leaps out of his skin when Sam taps him on the back.

“Dean? You’re next in line.”

“Uh – right. How long have you been back?” Dean asks as he pushes the cart forward. Sam gives him a sideways glance.

“… Only just now. Are you okay, man?”

Dean snaps out of it then and rolls his eyes at Sam.

“Are _you_ okay?” he says sarcastically, shoving Sam playfully. Sam’s expression doesn’t change, though, and Dean feels extremely uneasy. He makes sure Sam is thoroughly distracted when he pays for everything, including the magazine.

*

The school year starts a week later, by which point Dean has two magazines under his bed that he really, really wishes he’d had the willpower not to purchase. He’s read all the Astral Projection articles in them, too. Apparently, fans who are keen on a particular member will call themselves ‘Gabegirls’ or ‘Mikegirls’ or ‘Casgirls’, etc, etc, respectively. Dean is, if he’s acknowledging it (and he’s not), definitely a Casguy.  He’s devoted an embarrassing amount of time into finding all the differences between Castiel and Jimmy so that he can tell them apart even from a photograph.

All the while, Dean is mildly obsessed with the idea that this is really, really fucking _gay_.

Dean tells himself that he’s just going to indulge this stupid whatever-it-is for a little while to get it out of his system and move on from this ridiculous faggotry. It had been his intention to nip the habit by the time school starts… but when the first day rolls around, Dean still has his damn magazines and he’s not willing to part with them. Not yet.

It’s a little too warm for it, but Dean goes to school wearing his varsity baseball letterman jacket because it’s what he’s expected to do. When he gets there, he sees his fellow teammates from last year doing the same – because, again, it’s what they’re expected to do. He sees Adam Milligan shove a much smaller, nerdier kid into a trash can because the baseball players run the school, and tormenting the weak is what’s expected. Dean winces at the sight of it, though just barely. It’s not as though he hasn’t done the same thing on a regular basis. The summer has just made him soft.

In Dean’s defense, the kid kind of looked like Sammy for a second.

“Hey, Winchester,” someone says, clapping Dean on the back. It’s Victor, the team’s best catcher, and he’s grinning ear to ear. He looks like a tiger in its natural habitat or something.

“Henrickson!” Dean replies enthusiastically, matching his grin. Dean decides on the spot that he’s burning those magazines when he gets home. Victor is pretty much the poster boy for heterosexuality, and Dean’s feeling weirdly self-conscious around him.

“Nice to be back on top, huh? Ruling the halls. Seniors, man. Can you believe it?” Victor says, gesturing to the students walking through the hallways. “This whole school is now our rightful property.”

“You said it,” Dean replies, though he can’t stop thinking about how a ruler of the school shouldn’t have boyband magazines stashed under his bed.

The warning bell sounds for class and Victor bids him a “see you later” before heading off to his class. As Dean walks to his, he catches sight of a girl’s locker that has a magazine cutout of Astral Projection. His heart plummets to his stomach and he walks more briskly than he was before, studiously looking anywhere but at that locker.

Dean _seriously_ has a problem on his hands.

*

**Castiel**

“What is _wrong_ with you, Castiel?”

The interview is barely over before Jimmy is rounding on Castiel, glaring daggers. They’re walking from the set to their dressing rooms, each of them tapering off to their respective moves. Jimmy stays with Castiel, though, and follows Castiel inside and locks the door. Castiel’s face is carefully stoic.

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes you do,” Jimmy hisses, “You practically outed yourself on national television.”

Castiel says nothing, just starts taking off his shoes – designer sneakers, much to his disdain – and tugging off his blazer.

“Are you ready to deal with that kind of publicity, Castiel? The tabloids are probably already running their stupid stories, trying to find deep dark secrets in your past. Can you imagine how much worse it would be if the hostess wasn’t so professional?”

Castiel sits on the plush, red velvet couch in the room and leans back, closing his eyes and squeezing his temples.

“I did not want to lie, Jimmy,” he says, sounding tired, “I am tired of lying.”

Jimmy heaves a weary sigh and plops onto the couch next to his brother.

“You’re a celebrity, Castiel,” Jimmy says, and his tone is much less sharp now. “It’s called ‘selective truth’. Don’t say any more than you have to, and you’re not lying.”

Castiel opens one eye and looks at Jimmy.

“Father didn’t raise us to be liars.”

“Yeah, well,” Jimmy says, looking away, “Father _barely_ raised us. And I doubt he’d be too keen on the fact that you’re a big flaming homosexual either, so –“

Castiel punches his brother playfully on the arm.

“There is nothing flamboyant about me, Jimmy.”

“I know. It’s not fair, actually. Shouldn’t it be a rule that if you’ve got a gay brother, there has to be _something_ you can tease him about?”

“No,” Castiel says seriously, and Jimmy laughs.

“Just… don’t come out of the closet without a game plan first, okay? The other guys in the band don’t even know… well, officially. They’ve probably figured it out already.”

“Okay, Jimmy.”

They’re both quiet a moment, Castiel with his eyes closed and Jimmy looking thoughtful.

After a while, Jimmy says, “It won’t be like this forever, okay? You can come out... eventually. So don’t give up or anything.”

Castiel opens both eyes and meets Jimmy’s glance dead on and gives a small, sad smile.

“No, I can’t. You know that I can’t.”

“Castiel –“

“We are an _American_ boyband and we have a very wide female fan base. It would be ill-advised. I could jeopardize the band’s success. It is not of great import, Jimmy, don’t worry. There will be no repeats of today’s slip-up.”

Jimmy frowns, but says nothing more. Castiel knows it’s because he’s right.

*

Castiel comes alive when he’s performing. It’s the only time when he’s not quiet and withdrawn. It’s like a light switches on when he walks on stage, and it’s almost as if he’s another person entirely. He smiles when he sings, interacts with the crowd to a certain extent – though more often he’s interacting with his band mates, and most specifically Jimmy. The energy he exudes on stage has a vitality all its own, lost the moment he walks off. The difference is night and day.

He’s always been like this, since he was little and singing in church with his brother. Everyone thought he was mute until he opened his mouth to sing. He and Jimmy always got solos in the children’s choir, always hit the notes adults thought were far too out of their range. When people would complement them, Jimmy always smiled and gave thanks for the both of them. For this reason, it was good that they were inseparable. Castiel never had to speak unless absolutely necessary.

“Good show tonight, guys,” Michael says to his sweaty bandmates as everyone heads to their respective dressing rooms one night after a big show, several weeks after the near-catastrophic interview.

“Pretty sure one girl up front fainted,” Gabriel says with a grin. Jimmy looks concerned.

“I hope it was swooning and not heat exhaustion,” he says unsurely.

“It’s _always_ swooning,” Luke says with a roll of his eyes. “When is it ever _not_ swooning? Hey, I’m starved. We should go for Thai or something.”

“Ick, no, I’m sick of Asian food. Let’s get pizza,” Michael disagrees, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. “I hear there’s a good place nearby.”

“Do you _always_ have to disagree with me?” Luke asks scathingly through gritted teeth, and Michael just smirks.

“Am I the only one who doesn’t want to get mauled by obsessive fangirls? We should just order in,” Gabriel complains.

“We always order in,” Jimmy says, shaking his head, “I’ve memorized the inside of the tour bus. Let’s just hide our faces and go. There’s a burger joint nearby and I’m craving one _badly_.”

Castiel’s eyes light up.

“I agree with Jimmy.”

“Of _course_ you do,” Luke snickers, a layer of suggestion in his tone.

“I don’t understand your implication, Lucifer.”

“Shut up!” Lucifer hisses, moving in close to Castiel and lowering his voice. “It’s such bad press if people figure out my real name.”

“Boy band member named after the devil, that’ll go over well,” Gabriel snickers.

“Shut _up_ ,” Lucifer says again, and Michael laughs.

 


	2. Big Gay Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's no other explanation – the universe hates Dean Winchester. Why else would it send the five people Dean needs least to see in the entire friggin' world to him_ at his job? _What are the odds?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First official update! Whether or not I proceed depends on feedback, so please comment! 
> 
> I need a beta for this story, please let me know on [tumblr](http://nerdylittledude.tumblr.com/ask) if you're interested.

A quick Google search determines a restaurant/pub called the Roadhouse to be the best spot for burgers this side of Kansas. The boys show up wearing sunglasses and baseball hats with the hoods of their brightly colored hoodies up, and find a bored-looking teenage girl with long blonde hair sweeping disinterestedly near the entrance of the place. For a moment, Castiel fears that she might recognize them – most teenage girls do, after all – but she just gives them a slightly bemused once over and tells them to seat themelves and a sever will greet them shortly.

 

The place appears to be free of all other teenagers at this time of night, and after a moment's indecision, Castiel removes his sunglasses and lowers his hood. The rest of them follow suit in turn and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. He likes when they're able to be out in public without disguises.

 

Their waiter approaches them and Castiel barely registers him as staff because of his unusually casual attire. The only indication that he works here is the noted in his hand and the pen tucked behind his ear. There's an effortlessness in the way he carries himself, clad in a green-and-grey plaid shirt and a pair of loose jeans. When he reaches the table, Castiel is taken aback by how attractive the young man is, with his tanned skin and scattering of freckles, soft feminine lips paired with rugged features that give him a look that is decidedly _pretty,_ and Castiel thinks bemusedly the waiter would fit in easily in a boyband.

 

Castiel doesn't think twice about staring at the young man, absorbing his almost unnatural good looks and reveling in them. He's given to staring at almost anything, usually; it's only natural that such a fine specimen of human anatomy be studied, too. Castiel figures it's fine, anyway, because the boy is staring back, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

 

“Earth to waiter,” Gabriel says, waving his hand I front of the server's face. Jimmy kicks Castiel under the table and Castiel frowns, confused. The waiter blinks rapidly and clamps his mouth shut before plucking his pen from his ear. He points at Castiel with it.

 

“You're Castiel,” he says, voice almost accusatory in tone, as though Castiel wronged him once and never apologized.

 

“Yes,” Castiel says blankly, tilting his head slightly as he puzzles out this boy. The waiter gestures to the rest of the table with the pen.

 

“You're Astral Projection,” he says, and again that same tone of offense.

 

Jimmy heaves a sigh and sits back in his seat, and Michael groans and runs a hand over his short hair.

 

“Of all the people to recognize us," Michael mutters, “why some random jock?”

 

Castiel thinks Dean's ears might be going slightly pink. Interesting.

 

“You guys are on like every magazine cover ever,” the server says defensively. “Not exactly keeping a low profile. But...” The server seems to compose himself, finally, and an easy smile lights his features that makes something deep in Castiel churn wistfully. “I'm not going to call the paparazzi, if that's what you're worried about. My name's Dean, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you out with some drinks?”

 

The occupants of the table breathe in a collective sigh of relief, and Castiel even cracks a tiny smile. He notices Dean's Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, and again he finds himself delightfully puzzled about this pretty boy waiter.

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

There's no other explanation – the universe hates Dean Winchester. Why else would it send the five people Dean needs _least_ to see in the entire friggin' world to him _at his job_? What are the odds? Dean has to force himself not to run as fast he can from the table as soon as he takes their drink orders. He disappears into the relative safety of the bathroom and leans against the door, squeezing his eyes shut and willing this to be some sort of horrific dream.

 

There is no way he's going to get through this evening alive, with his dignity intact.

 

Because... because he just got to see _Cas_ , in the flesh, staring at him with those crazy intense blue eyes and that friggin sinful bedhead, so much more breathtakingly beautiful in real life than he could ever be from behind the lens of a camera. It's too much. And the way he _stared_ , like Dean was something worth looking at, like Dean could be _important –_ Dean's little problem is blowing up to crisis level and he needs these assholes gone as soon as possible.

 

Even if it means never seeing those striking blue eyes in person ever again.

 

He forces himself to get a grip and heads to the bar to fill their drink orders. He figures maybe this is a test, and that if he can endure this without indulging his stupid problem, he'll be cured of it. All he has to do is avoid these ridiculous thoughts and not stare back when Castiel pins him with that _look_ and he'll have overcome this nightmare. He has to be strong – strong and _straight_.

 

Jo walks over and leans against the bar counter, eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes Dean, who's filling drink orders. She doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at him suspiciously, and he's struck with such overwhelming paranoia that he almost tells her to go away. Jo's always been good at reading Dean – creepily so, even – and right now it feels like he has “BIG GAY CRISIS” written on his forehead in flashing neon lights. But there's no way Jo could know that.

 

“You gonna say something?” Dean says finally, because this night's gonna be bad enough without Jo giving him squinty eyes the whole time.

 

“Who is she?” Jo depends, mouth quirking into a mischievous smile, and Dean's not sure if he's relieved by the question or aghast at the irony.

 

“'She'?” he asks, feigning confusion – he knows where Jo's going with this. Jo rolls her eyes, clearly seeing right through him.

 

“C'mon, Dean. Your ears are all red and you have this doofy, flustered look on your face. There's gotta be some girl, and I think you've got it bad.” Jo gives the room a quick once over; it's mostly empty this close to closing time, and there's not a girl in sight. “Did you get a flirty text or something?”

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Dean says, cursing the dumb smile playing at his lips because this is so many kinds of messed up. Still, he can't force his brain to stop repeating over and over, _'he_ looked _at me, he_ spoke _to me!',_ which is what's causing the unfortunate smile on his face.

 

“Uh huh,” Jo says disbelievingly, crossing her arms. “What's her name?”

 

Dean sighs as he tops a chocolate milkshake – Cas' order, which had surprised him – with whipped cream.

 

“Her name's Cassie,” he says, instantly regretting it. Jo's eyebrows arch up in surprise.

 

“Cassie from school?” she asks, and Dean instantly shakes his head.

 

“No, no – you don't know her. Friend of mine. She goes to private school.” Dean's digging a grave for himself and he knows it, but somehow this fake girl is making him feel at ease with this situation. Like Dean can maybe pretend this whole situation away. Jo's suspicion increases obviously with the crease of her brow and the set of her lips.

 

“You don't have _friends_ , Dean. You have baseball lackeys and _me._ I need more information.”

 

“Gotta bring these drinks to the patrons,” Dean says with a smile and a wink, whisking away with a tray of drinks. Jo huffs a sigh loudly as he goes, making sure her indignation is known.

 

When Cas thanks Dean for his drink, his voice is all sex over gravel and enough to make Dean shudder from his neck to the back of his spine. The guy still stares like that's socially okay and Jimmy keeps frowning at his brother, and it's all awkward as hell. They take forever with their orders because Gabriel hasn't made up his mind but everyone else has, and Dean's forced to stand at the table trying not to look at his unsolicited, big gay celebrity crush. It's maddening.

 

Dean finally, finally is allowed to escape with their orders and breathes out a gasp of breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He's walking towards the kitchen and is completely taken aback when that familiar, gruff voice comes from _directly_ behind him. He whirls around faster than he'd intended to.

 

“Excuse me,” Cas says, stare so intense that it's got Dean feeling jumpy and trapped, like a specimen under a microscope. This dude's got _issues_.

 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, and his voice definitely, definitely does not crack.

 

“I was wondering where the bathroom was located.”

 

“Uh,” Dean says lamely, because this is _Castiel_ , boyband superstar and this shit was not in his job description. Cas tilts his head to the side in a manner that _does things_ to Dean, and he wants to scream or grab the guy's face or something.

 

This is so, so fucking gay.

 

Dean forces himself to picture Victor's reaction to this scenario and it's enough to shake him out of his reverie. He forces a smile and jerks his thumb in the restroom's direction.

 

“Right over there,” he says, voice carefully light, like he can pretend this weirdness isn't happening.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says, and it's a pretty deep voice – as male as male can be. Dean feels sick guilt curling in his stomach because Cas' smooth, low octaves just reiterate how far off the map of okay his feelings are.

 

Dean beelines towards the bar, where Jo's wiping counters. He puts on his best pleading face as he approaches her, and she groans.

 

“What do you want from me, Winchester?”

 

“Jo, I would owe you forever if you took over the last of my shift,” he says, voice imploring. Jo frowns.

 

“Dean, we close in 30 minutes. I'm on bar duty. I can't wait tables too,” she says, frowning at him, and he lets his lower lip pucker just the slightest bit.

 

“Please, Jo? There's barely anyone here, and it's almost closing time. Please, I... it's Sammy, he sent me this off the wall text and I'm worried.” Jo's expression softens immediately and Dean feels like the world's lowest scum – lying to Jo is one of his least favorite things. Lying to Jo about Sam is about as bad as it gets.

 

“Alright, dude. But you owe me, big time,” she says slowly, still not looking entirely convinced. Dean beams and pulls her into a hug, because he's too grateful for words. He may be the mighty Dean Winchester, but he knows when he's outmatched. He's got to get the hell out of here before he becomes irrevocably homo or something.

 

The purr of the Impala and its rumble through his seat has never felt so good.

 

*

 

 _Dean shuts his bedroom door behind him and pushes another person's warm body against it, stepping in past personal space and close enough so that their chests press together. His room is dark, which is sure as hell not gonna fly because the person whose body is slotted up tight against him is_ beautiful, _far too beautiful to waste a moment not seeing it. He tries to reach for the light switch, even as soft lips are brushing against his own. He's distracted from his endeavor to illuminate the room by the subtle slip of tongue into his mouth, sending shivers down his spine. His heavy sigh sounds loud in the quiet room._

 

 _The other person whips them both around so that Dean's the one pressed against the door – and_ fuck _if that isn't the biggest turn on ever. Strong hands grab his wrists and pin them to either side of his head as his mouth is ravaged, and Dean feels weak at the knees. He accepts each kiss greedily, reveling in the firm insistence in the other person's kiss. There's a tangible force about it, like a bottled hurricane, and Dean's more than content to let his partner take and take and take. He only wishes the light was on._

 

_The other person slips a leg between Dean's own, grinding up to create sweet friction that has Dean groaning and panting, toes curling where he stands. The roll of another set of hips against his own is maddening, overwhelming in its surety, like there's nowhere else this person would rather be. There are lips and teeth at his neck, then, sucking and biting and surely leaving blooming marks all over. Dean loves it, loves the idea of walking into school covered in hickeys so everyone can see he's been claimed. He wants to brag, wants to talk about this mouth that's making him lose his mind, these frantic thrusts that have him reeling with desire._

 

 _Dean's wrists get shifted over his head so they can be held in only one hand, and in an instant he feels a hand at his zipper and his blood feels close to boiling. He tilts his hips up, pushing his crotch into a willing hand and moans at the contact, shameless in his urgency. The sound that comes out of his mouth when his jeans and underwear are gruffly shoved down is definitely_ not _a whimper._

 

 _There's no way he can do this without light, though, no way he can get a mind-blowing handjob without being able to_ see _the filthy slide of a hand between his legs, the surely blissed-out and desperate look on the other person's face. It's a sight he's not willing to pass up, and although the subtle domination of having his hands held down has him all kinds of turned on, he wrenches one arm free and flicks on the light to get a good look at the person with their hand on his dick. When he sees who he's looking at, his mouth falls wide open and he gasps._

 

 _It's Castiel_.

 

Dean's eyes burst open and he sits up abruptly, yanking his hand aggressively from its place between his legs, panting hard with panic and frustration. It's sort of his nightly ritual to get himself off in the comfort of his room once everyone's gone to sleep, but never has his _problem_ slipped into his fantasies. His heart is hammering in terror, now, because _how could he let this happen?_ How had he let this blue-eyed demon sneak into his waking moments and indulged this awful plague? Cas snuck in unexpected and unwelcome into his mind, and now those goddamn eyes, pupils dilated and hungry, are burned into his retinas.

 

He wonders if it's too late now, if he's beyond saving. Catching himself jerking off to another guy is about as low as it goes without actually fucking one. _That_ thought has him thinking of another one entirely – of fucking Cas, or _getting_ fucked by Cas, and the shudder of absolute want that courses through him twists in his stomach and makes him sick.

 

He's screwed. Completely and utterly and hopelessly screwed. 


	3. Slash Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins go to Dean's baseball game and Dean discovers the underground world of fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings! I've never had to give a warning before, how 'bout that? I probably should have warned about this from the get-go, but **homophobia/homophobic language and violence will be a major theme in this work**. Sorry it didn't occur to me to warn that from the start!
> 
> Also, twincest lies ahead! Except not really. Jimmy is and will always be straight in this 'verse, even if the in-verse Astral Projection fandom ships him with his brother. Jimstiel will never make it out of Dean's computer screen, but it will be a running theme in the story from here on in. Sorry if that's not your cup of tea!
> 
> **as always, work is unbeta'd, please send me errors as you catch them!

**Castiel**

 

When the blonde girl, who introduces herself as Jo despite the name card that labels her _Joanna_ , comes to their table and explains that Dean abruptly had to leave work, Castiel is taken off guard by the lurch in his stomach that he quickly identifies as disappointment. The young man had intrigued him with his bright green eyes and poorly excused recognition of their band. Vaguely, it occurs to Castiel that he will likely never see the boy again, never know of his life and his story... and the idea has him feeling inexplicably dejected. Perhaps it is because it is not very often that he meets someone as prone to staring as himself.

 

… Of course, Castiel realizes that this may have everything to do with Dean’s striking good looks.

 

The band members order all variations of burgers, from Michael’s double-bacon quarter-pounder to Gabriel’s veggie burger, and Jo seems amused at the variety, smirking and raising her eyebrows with each new order. The only two who order the same thing are, predictably, the twins. Castiel does not understand why Lucifer and Michael smirk at each other when this happens, though they do it s often that he’s long since stopped caring.

 

Jo rolls her eyes and asks for an ID when Gabriel requests a margarita. He grins and shrugs in response.

 

“Sorry, I got so used to the drinking age in Europe that I keep forgetting the one here,” he says, and Castiel is vaguely annoyed with the layer of pretension in his voice. Castiel knows for a fact that Gabriel is not being truthful; they haven’t toured Europe in almost a year. Jo, to her credit, looks amused but by no means impressed.

 

“Sorry, Toto, looks like you’re back in Kansas,” she says with a wink as she goes to fill their orders, and Castiel decides he likes her.

 

Castiel is absorbed in his thoughts the entire meal, checking out completely in favor of revisiting his brief encounter with Dean over and over in his mind. Jimmy nudges him every now and then and gives Castiel a questioning look with a raise of his eyebrows. Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s fairly certain Jimmy will want to have a _talk_ at some point tonight, and Castiel dreads it. Jimmy is very perceptive and Castiel does not doubt he has picked up on his brother’s fixation.

 

Lawrence was the last stop in their current tour, though there’s only a month of respite until the upcoming Europe tour. Everyone but the twins will be flying back to their respective homes over the break; Michael and Lucifer will head back to their parents in New York and Gabriel will join his mother in Nevada. The Novak twins have no home to go home to, with no family to speak of and no roots anywhere. They haven’t decided where to go over the break just yet, so they’re staying in a hotel just outside of Lawrence until they’ve made up their minds.

 

After dinner, they all say their goodnights and split up to their separate hotel rooms. As expected, Jimmy pounces as soon as the door to their shared room is closed.

 

“Y’know, you’re about as transparent as they come,” he starts off right away, and Castiel grimaces. There’s no use in trying to hide anything from his brother.

 

“No, you’re just very perceptive,” Castiel says with a sigh, taking a seat on one of the beds before pulling off his hoodie and tugging off his shoes. Jimmy sits beside him, brow furrowed with concern.

 

“You liked him,” Jimmy says, and although there’s no hint of accusation in his voice, it’s certainly not a question. Castiel’s shoulders slump and his shoes suddenly seem very interesting.

 

“Was it so much to ask that he wait our table all night?” he responds quietly, surprising himself with the wistfulness in his voice. It is not often that he finds himself feeling wistful, and it aches like a tangible thing in the depths of his stomach.

 

“He was staring pretty hard,” Jimmy offers with a reassuring touch to Castiel’s arm. Castiel leans into it, grateful for the comfort but still thoroughly shocked by his own reactions to tonight. He thinks it might be somehow related to his new and itching, impossible desire to come out of the closet recently. The idea’s been burning through his mind ever since the interview. He heaves a heavy sigh and Jimmy squeeze his arm lightly.

 

“I am going to be alone for a very long time,” Castiel remarks, casual, like it doesn’t matter. Jimmy fixes him with a long look, wrought with pity, before pulling Castiel in for a hug.

 

“I know it’s not much,” he says softly, “but you’ll always have me.”

 

Castiel nods against Jimmy’s face.

 

“It is enough,” he says honestly, and tries to put Dean out of his mind.

 

*

 

They decide to stay in Lawrence. They’re not exactly expected anywhere, what with the dismal family situation, and they hold no pressing desires to go anywhere else, so they figure Lawrence is as good a place as any. It’s mutually decided that the break will best be spent catching up with their online classes and playing video games against each other. A little rest and doing nothing will be a welcome respite from the consistent demands of a tour schedule.

 

The twins accompany the other boys to the airport so they can say their goodbyes. While the five of them aren’t nearly as close as they allow the media to portray them - save for the twins, that is - there is a sort of camaraderie between them born simply from travelling and performing together. Closeness was an inevitability, and Castiel is sincere in his goodbyes. There are hugs all around before Michael, Lucifer and Gabriel make their way toward Security, and Castiel thinks he catches someone snapping a picture of the scene.

 

On the twins’ way to the exit, they are stopped by two giggling girls who ask for pictures with them. Castiel and Jimmy exchange a look in silent conversation, which sends the girls into another fit of giggles, before Jimmy smiles his classic boyband smile and says they’d love to take a picture. Castiel and Jimmy are perhaps the most reserved with fans of the rest of the band, though Jimmy’s love for the fans as individuals is perhaps the most genuine. Castiel is grateful to them all for his success, certainly, but his antisocial tendencies make dealing with them tiresome and unrewarding for him. He is certain he could have never survived a boyband without help from Jimmy.

 

They slip off while the girls are Instagramming their photos, eager to leave before they’re spotted again. They both prefer to travel without bodyguards as often as possible, and a crowd-causing incident could make it so that is no longer an option. Thankfully, they make it to the cab unscathed and once it’s on its way, Castiel finally allows the tension to drain from his shoulders. Jimmy seems to notice, because he gives Castiel’s shoulders a brief squeeze, rubbing circles in his shoulderblades.

 

“I know you find them stressful,” Jimmy says with a sympathetic smile, and Castiel smiles his own small smile back.

 

“They mean well,” Castiel says, leaning his head forward so Jimmy can work through the knot at the base of his neck. The driver clears his throat loudly, startling both of them, and Castiel finds the man looking at them strangely through the rearview mirror.

 

“Can I help you?” Jimmy asks uncertainly when the man doesn’t speak. The cabbie doesn’t respond, just rolls his eyes exaggeratedly as he pulls up to the hotel, as though his meaning should be obvious. Annoyed, Castiel pointedly doesn’t tip him before exiting the vehicle. The twins exchange looks as the cab tears away, but shrug in unison and walk off to their room, brushing it off.

 

Once back in their room, the boys beeline for their laptops and curl up with them, Cas with his nestled in his lap as he sits against the headboard and Jimmy with his resting on the same bed as he lays out on his stomach. Castiel opens up the signs into the website where their online classes are and reads through his assignments, trying to pick out the easiest ones to get them out of the way. He doubts Jimmy is doing the same; while they both are fairly diligent with their schoolwork, Jimmy is much less likely to start without motivation from Castiel. Castiel figures that’s the sort of thing a parent would provide, but he’s happy to take the responsibility. It makes him happy to see Jimmy successful.

 

“Have you ever thought about Googling yourself?” Jimmy asks after a while, effectively throwing Castiel off his train of thought. Castiel furrows his brow.

 

“Why would I want to do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side in a display of genuine confusion.

 

Jimmy shrugs.

  
“Just out of curiosity. Don’t you wonder what people think of you? We’re the only ones in the group without Twitter accounts, even. I know it’s a bad idea, but I can’t help but be curious.”

 

Castiel contemplates this for a while; it has truly never occurred to him before. He has never considered the use of a search engine outside of its uses for school. Finally he just shrugs and shakes his head.

 

“Our fans like us and our producers like us. There are many people who dislike us simply on the basis of being in a boyband. I don’t need the Internet to reiterate any of that.”

 

Out of the corner of Cas’ eye, he sees Jimmy pull up Google on his browser.

 

“Suit yourself,” he says, throwing a grin over his shoulder. He types - probably writing their names - and then falls silent as he reads through the results. Castiel goes back to his schoolwork, and only looks up again when Jimmy abruptly shuts his laptop, eyes wide and expression unreadable. If nothing else, he looks almost nauseous.

 

“Jimmy?” Castiel asks, concerned, and moves to comfort his brother. Jimmy holds up a hand, shaking his head silently a moment before swallowing hard, as though forcing back vomit.

 

“Promise me you will never Google us,” Jimmy says tightly, and Castiel is instantly up in arms. He narrows his eyes.

 

“Did someone say something that hurt you?” he asks, brotherly instincts kicking into overdrive. Jimmy shakes his head again.

 

“No. Just - promise me, Cas?”

 

Cas frowns, unsatisfied with his brother’s vagueness, but finally he promises, and the relief written in Jimmy’s features is enough to make his frustrations ebb.

 

“I need a shower,” Jimmy says after that, shaking his arms slightly as though trying to force off something slimy. Jimmy disappears into the bathroom and Castiel fights the suddenly impossible urge to break his promise. He doesn’t, though, because promises to his brother are perhaps the most valuable thing in this world, even strange ones that confuse him.

 

*

 

The following day, it’s just past noon and both boys are still in their beds, huddled under the big, plush covers with their laptops, shades and curtains drawn to the light of day. They’ve been alternately dozing and playing each other in Command and Conquer for most of the later half of the morning, both feeling too lethargic and comfortable to leave their blanket cocoons. Castiel’s face is pressed into his pillow, now, eyes shut, computer resting on the nightstand between their beds. He stretches his limbs in all directions before lying limp again. He can hear his brother tapping away on his laptop in the bed across from him, on Twitter, no doubt.

 

“Hey, Cas, why don’t we go to a baseball game?” Jimmy says out of nowhere, just as Castiel feels the beginnings of sleep fighting for control of his eyelids.

 

“Baseball?” Castiel responds groggily, forcing open one eyelid and peaking through the covers at his twin. Jimmy is sitting up in the other bed, cross-legged, laptop resting on the bed before him. “Isn’t that a bit risky? Large crowds, cameras everywhere...”

 

Jimmy shakes his head.

 

“Not if it’s a high school baseball game. If we disguise ourselves right, we’ll blend right in. You like baseball, right?”

 

Castiel pictures bleachers upon bleachers full of squealing teenage girls, and he frowns.

 

“Of course,” he says slowly, because Jimmy knows as well as he does that baseball is the only sport he enjoys watching in the slightest. “But I doubt a high school baseball team would be worth watching.”

 

Jimmy shrugs and turns his attention to the screen.

 

“According to Lawrence’s town website, their high school’s baseball team is one of the best in the nation. It seems that this town prides the sport even above football; the usual homecoming game and dance are centered around baseball, not football. I think it’d be fun.”

 

Castiel is not convinced. The warmth of his blankets and the lure of a day spent indoors doing next to nothing is far too tempting. Jimmy rolls his eyes dramatically and spins his laptop around so that the screen is facing Castiel.

 

“It just so happens that the lead hitter on this baseball team is one _Dean Winchester_. He look familiar to you?”

 

Castiel is sitting up in a moment, leaning forward so he can get a better look at the picture Jimmy is pointing to. It’s an action shot of their five-minute waiter from the night before, mid-swing, face a picture of concentration and resolve. The photo is super high res, and Castiel can see every individual freckle on Dean’s face. He stares blankly a while until finally blinking rapidly to force himself to _think_.

 

“What time is the game?” Castiel asks, throwing back the blankets and beelining for the shower. Jimmy laughs.

 

“Hours, Castiel! We have hours!” he says over the roar of the spray, but Cas ignores his brother’s teasing tone as he climbs in, too distracted by the butterflies in his chest.

 

He’s going to see Dean again

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

Dean feels like the lowest scum that dirt has to offer. He doesn’t know how to pretend to be _normal_ in a locker room surrounded by his decidedly heterosexual teammates after last night. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor as he systematically changes into his uniform, not bothering to laugh and joke with his friends like he normally does before a big game. He hardly feels worthy to be around them, let alone to enjoy their company. It makes him sick to picture the look on their faces if they ever found out about the awful things he’s been thinking - about what he accidentally allowed himself to imagine last night.

 

Of course, Dean’s behavior is not lost to the teammates. One of the downsides of being a notorious loudmouth is that people come to expect it; everyone always notices when Dean is quiet. Today is no exception, much as Dean wishes it was.

 

“Cat got your tongue, Winchester?” Victor asks, taking a seat next to Dean on a bench between the lockers as he laces up his shoes. “The boys could use a pep talk and our lead hitter has suddenly gone mute. Don’t tell me the Falcons have got you spooked. They may be the only team with a record anywhere near ours, but we - “

 

Dean shakes his head.

 

“It’s not the Falcons, Victor. I’m fine,” Dean says, flashing a smile he hopes doesn’t look as forced as it feels. Victor raises an eyebrow suspiciously before lowering his voice.

 

“Is it John?” Victor asks quietly, and Dean sort of wishes he could sink into the floor. His dad is the last person he wants to think about right now, in the middle of this shameful mess he’s in. He knows Victor’s only trying to help, so he tries not to get pissed off. There have been nights where Dean’s father has been drunk and belligerent, to the point where Dean deemed the place unsafe for Sammy, and Victor has always welcomed them to crash at his house. Dean likes that Victor never asks many questions; _‘John is drunk’_ has always been explanation enough.

 

“John’s fine, too,” Dean says sharply through gritted teeth, and Victor shifts from concerned to annoyed almost seamlessly, indicated only by the cross of his arms and the set to his shoulders.

 

“Well fuck me for trying to be helpful, then,” Victor hisses, though Dean is almost sure he’s not truly upset. Victor comes off strong almost always, and Dean’s developed a sense of when is truly cause for alarm. Dean’s mostly stuck on the words _fuck me_ and how he’s sure Victor would never use it as an insult if he knew that Dean was a friggin’ queer.

 

“I’m sorry, Vic, I just -” Dean starts, backpedaling, but Victor shakes his head and holds up a hand.

 

“Spare me the chickflick moment. You’re a big boy, you’ll get over whatever’s eating you. But right now the team needs its co-captains to step up, because, in case you’ve forgotten, we have a _game_ starting in five minutes. A game against the big, scary, gnarly Falcons who have travelled a big long way just to rip us a new one.”

 

Game. Baseball. Right.

 

“C’mon, Henrickson, who do I look like? Milligan, the new guy? We’ve got this. Let’s go kick some Falcon ass,” Dean says, forcing himself out of his haze of self-loathing to focus on the higher goal here.

 

Dean decides that they _have_ to win this game. He’s not sure what it’ll prove, but somehow it feels like something big is at stake. Baseball is the most hetero thing Dean can think of. If he can’t succeed at this, what does he have left?

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Victor says with a grin, and Dean can’t help but smile back.

 

*

 

**Castiel**

 

Five innings in, a lanky teenager with shaggy hair of about fourteen leaves the bleachers and walks up to the fence where the players are seated. He tosses a bottle of Gatorade over the fence and Dean catches it. The come in close for a conversation, and it strikes Castiel that this may be Dean’s brother. It delights him to think that they may share such an important thing in common. Castiel’s brother is his world; he wonders what Dean thinks of his own brother, if this boy is truly his brother. It might be a bit of a leap to assume that they’re related, but something in the way they regard each other, how Dean tries to ruffle the boy’s hair through the fence and how the boy sticks his tongue out, leads Castiel to believe that he is not wrong.

 

Jimmy knocks Castiel’s elbow with his own, and leans in so that Castiel can hear him without him speaking up and getting overheard by the many people in the crowd around them.

 

“You’re lucky we’re too far back for anyone to notice you staring,” he whispers. “The game’s on the field, not the dugout.”

 

“I’m just watching what’s interesting,” Castiel whispers back, and Jimmy rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

 

“You’re hopeless.”

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

By the eighth inning, the Lawrence Lions are up by five and Dean’s feeling confident and pleased. The fans are going wild and the team is in high spirits. Sam is sitting front and center in his red team sweatshirt, grinning and waving whenever Dean turns his way. Dean’s long since forgotten about the anxiety plaguing him earlier. He’s in his element, now, kicking ass and taking names, reiterating with each swing just where he stands on the high school totem pole.

 

At the end of the eighth inning, his good feelings get shot to hell.

 

They’re sitting in the dugout awaiting the end of a timeout the other team called when Adam Milligan grabs Dean and Victor by the shoulders and conspiratorially points at the bleachers behind them, leaning close.

 

“ _Did you guys see those faggots up there?”_ he asks in a low voice, grinning wickedly. The grin catches and soon Victor’s got that same awful smirk, scanning the audience to find out who Adam’s trying to point out. Dean feels his heart drop to his stomach like lead and he suddenly feels like puking.

 

“Where?” Victor asks, still searching, and Dean already hates where this is going. He knows that some poor bastards are about to get beat up tonight, probably by a team full of guys riding an adrenaline high from victory. Dean may be trying to cling to the vestiges of denial, but he knows how fucked up it’ll be to hit a guy for being _exactly what he is_ , and he’s not sure if he can do it. Not anymore, not now that he’s so painfully aware of the problem that he can barely go a game without thinking of it. Dean knows self-loathing when he sees it, and even he can’t stomach the idea of punching someone else for what he hates in himself.

 

“I don’t see ‘em,” Dean says dismissively, turning away to face the field. “You’ve got a problem, Adam, you’re seein’ homos everywhere-”

 

“There they are,” Victor says, satisfaction in his voice. “And they are most assuredly faggots. Look at the filthy bastards, they’re all over each other.”

 

Dean can’t help but follow Victor’s gaze to the very back of the bleachers. Two boys sit together, shoulders touching, heads ducked together in conversation. They’re both wearing skinny jeans and brightly colored striped hoodies, matching but in different colors. They’ve got on baseball hats and sunglasses and Dean doesn’t recognize them from where they are, but their proximity alone is enough to give off the gay vibe. Dean doesn’t know what to do.

 

“We’ll catch up with them after the game,” Victor says decidedly, and suddenly Dean’s throat feels dry and tight. He tries to think quickly; if this is inevitable, he sure as hell doesn’t want to be part of it. Not tonight, anyway. Not until he clears his head.

 

“I can’t tonight. Got a... a family thing, y’know? With Sammy...” Dean lets his voice trail off, meeting Victor’s eyes, letting Victor fill in his own excuse, especially given Dean’s behavior before the game. Dean hates that this is the second time he’s used Sam as an excuse not to deal with his own problems, but not enough to make him take it back. It’s the best excuse he has.

 

“Another time then, Winchester,” Victor says, voice sympathetic and understanding. Dean feels miserable.

 

The Falcons make an impossible comeback in the ninth inning, making run after run to the point where it seems surreal. What’s worse, Dean strikes out when the bases are loaded, blowing the team’s shot at turning it around. The Lawrence Lions lose, and Dean hightails it out of there the second the game is called, not even bothering to change in the locker room. He grabs Sam and he bails, playing the music in the Impala loud to drown out any attempts at conversation.

 

He hopes the poor bastards who are about to have a team of brooding losers pounding their faces in end up okay.

 

*

 

**Castiel**

 

On their way to get food after the game, Jimmy and Castiel are discussing the shocking change in the course of the game and weighing the possible factors in its turn when they’re surrounded. Both boys instinctively move toward each other as they survey the group around them. Castiel’s surprised to find that it’s Dean’s baseball team, and is even more surprised at the menacing look in their eyes. It strikes Castiel as odd that Dean is not among them. One member steps forward, who Castiel took to be one of the team captains, and he has a smile on his face that makes Castiel uncomfortable.

 

“Can we help you?” Castiel asks, and the captain laughs.

 

“Bet you’d like to, wouldn’t you, faggot?” he asks. Jimmy’s eyes widen and Castiel’s fists clench.

 

“We’re not gay,” Jimmy says firmly. “Move aside, please. We’re going somewhere.”

 

“Those pants are pretty tight for a straight guy,” another team member sneers, and the twins exchange _looks_ \- clearly they agree about what an incredible jump of reasoning it is to believe that pants can determine sexuality.

 

“What - what the hell? Did we take a detour into the stone age?” Jimmy asks, his nice guy demeanor fading into something far less reasonable. “You’re all insane. Get out of our way.”

 

Castiel thinks idly that Jimmy is probably not helping their situation at all.

 

“Listen up, pansies,” the captain says. “You must be new here, so I’ll explain how it works. Your kind - “ he gestures to the two of them “ - don’t show up at baseball games and dances and other shit where normal people hang out. Hell, you don’t even go to _school_ dressed like that. And _we_ -” he gestures to his team “- are the reason why not.”

 

“We’re not boyfriends,” Jimmy says quickly, some of the fire in his voice replaced by fear that Castiel hopes no one else picks up on. “We’re brothers.”

 

Jimmy drops his hood and takes off his sunglasses, and Castiel takes the hint and does the same. The team stares at them in shock, and Castiel dares to hope they’ll get out of this unscathed. Victor whistles and shakes his head in absolute disbelief, and Castiel begins to think that it is probably a false hope.

 

“Doesn’t that beat all, you kinky bastards. Identical, even. There’s a special place in hell for people like you.”

 

Castiel manages to slip his hand into his pocket unnoticed. His phone is there, and he thanks his lucky stars for two things - one, that he and Jimmy decided to keep their bodyguards on speed dial, and two, that he doesn’t have a ridiculous touchscreen phone and can feel where the numbers are. He presses what he hopes is a 9 followed by the call button before a fist collides with his face.

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

Sunday morning dawns bright and cloudless, an eerie contrast to the dark and dismal place his dreams were last night, and the first thing Dean does when he wakes is check his phone. He’s got one text, and it’s from Henrickson. His stomach lurches but he opens it anyway, with all the enthusiasm of someone ripping off a bandage. It reads,

 

_faggots turned out to be boyband twins w bodyguards. we’re so fucked._

 

Dean drops his phone.

 

He doesn’t even flinch when it cracks, just stares down at the glowing screen where it landed on the floor, palms sweaty, heart racing. He’s not thinking of his friends or the world of trouble they’re in for beating up on celebrities, or whether they’re okay - he’s thinking of Castiel. Dean’s afraid he might be hurt. It makes him sick to realize that that’s what he’s concerned about right now, that the only thing on his mind is how far his teammates got before help came. He pictures Castiel’s beautiful face all torn up with blood and bruises and he feels a fury balling up inside him that he can’t explain and adds to his growing list of reasons to hate himself.

 

Unable to deal with wondering, he opens his laptop and types _Castiel and Jimmy Novak_ into the search engine, expecting to find news articles popping up with bloody pictures and mugshots... but there’s none. The first page of hits is just the typical gossip site garbage about Astral Projection, nothing about assaults or hate crimes. The second page causes Dean to pause in his tracks.

 

> _Are the Novak Twins Secretly Gay for Each Other? Inside Story_
> 
>  
> 
> _Astral Projection Twincest Rumors_
> 
>  
> 
> _Castiel/Jimmy Slash Livejournal Community_
> 
>  
> 
> _Jimstiel FanFiction_
> 
>  
> 
> _Jimmy/Castiel - Archive of Our Own_
> 
>  
> 
> _fuckyeahjimstiel.tumblr.com_
> 
>  

 

They go on and on. Dean forgets to be worried, forgets to be having a crisis and forgets how to do pretty much anything but click one of the links. Something burns low in his stomach when he reads the _filthy_ summary on one of the works of fanfiction he finds, paired with the NC-17 rating. He glances at the door to doublecheck that it’s locked before following the link, consumed by curiosity. And, God help him, he reads.

 

> _And then Jimmy caressed Castiel’s clavicle._
> 
>  
> 
> _"This is wrong," said Castiel._
> 
>  
> 
> _"Then I don't want to be right," replied Jimmy, in a husky voice._

 

Dean wrinkles his nose and backs out of the entry quickly, clicking something different from the database. He already feels wrong enough as it is - he doesn’t want to read something where everyone involved is uncomfortable. He finds something that seems much safer, with an author that refers to Castiel as Cas.

 

> “ _Cas?” a quiet voice calls out in the dark. The bedroom is dark and otherwise silent, save for the sound of two boys breathing. Lights out was nearly an twenty minutes ago, and Cas was just starting to fall asleep. From Cas’ place in the top bunk, he can’t see his brother - but he can hear the trepidation in Jimmy’s voice. He sits up quickly, wincing as he hits his head on the ceiling above the bunk bed._
> 
>  
> 
> “ _Jimmy?” Cas calls back, just as quiet._
> 
>  
> 
> “ _Can you... can you come down here, Cas?” Jimmy asks, voice hesitant and unsure, and Cas doesn’t need any further explanation before he’s scaling the small ladder down to the bottom bunk. He lands on the floor with a thud and is quickly by Jimmy’s side, bent low so they can talk without being heard._
> 
>  
> 
> “ _Did you have a bad dream?” Cas asks, and instead of replying Jimmy leans up and kisses Cas full on the mouth. He wastes no time before plunging his tongue into Cas’ mouth, and Cas kisses back easily, greedily. Jimmy is grinning when their lips finally part, hands buried in a handful of dark hair that is identical to his own._
> 
>  
> 
> “ _No,” Jimmy says, reaching around Cas’ waist and tugging his younger twin on top of him. “I just wanted to get you down here so you could fuck me.”_

 

Dean slams his laptop shut and practically runs to the shower.  


	4. "Shipper Feels"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean thinks idly that the characterization of Jimmy in most fics he's read is completely off. Jimmy is sassy as hell in real life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the lateness! As I said, my goal is to update every Sunday, but between having a full weekend and words evading me all week, I couldn't help the delay. I'll try and do better next time. Also, please pardon the emotional rollercoaster that is Dean Winchester. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I hope it's still IC. 
> 
> Thanks to my friend Kass for helping me through a mental block! <3 Her contributions in brainstorming were invaluable. 
> 
> Work is unbeta'd and surely crude. Please forgive any typos/grammatical errors and point them out if you get a chance.

**Castiel**

 

The air in the hospital is thick with too much wholesale cleaning product and a general feeling of melancholy, and Castiel is downright miserable. He and his brother are being kept here overnight for their injuries, though Castiel suspects it might be at their agent's request and not because of any real reason to. His cracked ribs are the worst of their injuries, which amount to a disproportionate amount of bruises and a blow to Jimmy's head that had Castiel fearing concussion. The doctor has since refuted that concern, but Castiel still worries.

 

Castiel doesn't know what time it is when he wakes after a heavy dose of painkillers, only that the sun is nearly set and Jimmy is still asleep. They're alone in their extravagant private room, and while Castiel thinks it's a little unnecessary, he's grateful for the privacy. After a moment's indecision, he forces himself out of bed despite the screaming protest of his body and crosses the room. He crawls in bed beside his brother and heaves a sigh of relief. This whole situation feels that much better just by being close to his twin. It reminds him of when they were little, when bad dreams and drunken fathers were both things better kept at bay together.

 

Head gently leaned against Jimmy's, Castiel is all set to fall back asleep when the door opens. He starts visibly and his stomach lurches when he sees who it is. The man in the well-tailored suit lets the door fall shut loudly, effectively waking Jimmy.

 

“Hello, boys,” comes the cheery British accent of their agent and producer, Crowley. Castiel frowns and Jimmy, still addled with sleep, furrows his brow and squints at the short man as he crosses the room to stand beside their bed. Crowley gives them a once over and very pointedly raises his eyebrows skeptically, though the meaning of the gesture is lost to Castiel.

 

“Hello, Crowley,” Castiel responds, setting his shoulders. He was hoping he wouldn't have to see their agent for a month, until it was time for their next tour. It isn't that Crowley is unkind or even particularly unpleasant; to the contrary, he always makes sure that the band's needs are met and that they are taken care of. There's just something _about_ him that Castiel doesn't like. There's a sort of false cheeriness to him, like he's something completely different just under the surface, and it makes Castiel uneasy.

 

“I hear you two have been in a bit of a tussle,” he says, and Jimmy huffs, chewing his cheek in a way Castiel has come to recognize as an attempt to hold his tongue.

 

“Wouldn't call it a tussle,” Jimmy mutters despite his efforts, but Crowley ignores him.

 

“The police are asking if you'd like to press charges,” Crowley says, and Castiel narrows his eyes, feeling something wrathful curl in his chest.

 

“Of course we're going to press charges,” Jimmy snaps, speaking the exact words on Castiel's tongue. “Why the hell wouldn't we press charges?”

 

Crowley sighs and takes a seat at the chair by their bed, steepling his hands and pinning the twins with an impatient look, like he's addressing a pair of particularly hardheaded children.

 

“ _Because_ my endearingly moronic little pop princesses, this was a _hate_ crime. Meaning if this ever got out to the media – and this won't get out to the media, I'll make damn sure of that – all the headlines would be running the story about the faggoty band members who got beat up by some Kansas-bred homophobic jocks. It's bad press. No, we're going to let them go with nondisclosure agreements, you two aren't going anywhere without bodyguards anymore, and we'll pretend like this whole little fiasco never came to be.”

 

Jimmy and Castiel stare, slack-jawed, matching looks of disbelief on both their faces.

 

“People already think you two are banging each other,” Crowley says offhand with a shrug. Castiel's mouth snaps shut because – because _what?_ Him and... Jimmy, his brother? Together? The very idea makes him want to wretch; Jimmy's reaction to his Google search suddenly makes perfect sense. Jimmy's attention is on him now, worried, but Castiel finds it difficult to meet his brother's eyes.

 

“Jimmy is my brother,” Castiel tells Crowley firmly, and Crowley rolls his eyes.

 

“Just because the group and I get your weird, codependent brotherly hogwash doesn't mean it doesn't look like incest to the rest of the world. You two really ought to work on that, it'd make my job easier,” Crowley says, standing to his feet.

 

“I'm not changing how I relate to Cas for the sake of press,” Jimmy practically growls in retort. “He already has to hide who he is. I'm not letting him lose me, too.”

 

Crowley gives him a pointed stare.

 

“Save the dramatics, James. No one's asking you to stop being brothers. Would I love it if you two didn't act like the other one hung the moon for you and then went to church between your legs? Sure. That'd be swell. As your agent slash publicist, that might even get me a day off once in a while. But there's no use arguing with you lot. So go on, keep making my life difficult. Get beat up every other weekend for all I care. I'm the best of the best for a reason.”

 

Crowley makes his exit, then, not bothering to wait for whatever the boys might come up with. They both sigh in unison and exchange a loaded look once he goes.

 

“Dean Winchester is on that team,” Castiel says quietly, miserably, looking and sounding so small that Jimmy's heart aches.

 

“That... doesn't mean anything, Cas. Not necessarily,” Jimmy says quickly, clearly trying to soothe his brother's fears, but Castiel just shakes his head sadly.

 

“He's a co-captain. If he had been with them he surely would have hurt us, too. I picked a fine specimen for infatuation.” There is a defined sullenness Castiel's tone, paired with a defeated slump to his shoulders that is uncharacteristic of him. Jimmy frowns, chewing his lip, brow furrowed with concern.

 

“Things will be different one day, Cas,” Jimmy responds, voice wrought with enough pain for the both of them, and Cas feels the weight of his helplessness lighten just the smallest bit. He doesn't like it when Jimmy is sad.

 

“Things are fine,” Castiel decides aloud, and then sits up, scrambling out of bed and to his feet.

 

“I should...” Castiel says, voice trailing off as he glances back at his side of the room.

 

“Go back to your side, yeah,” Jimmy says quietly. Nurses or doctors could walk in at any time, after all, and while Castiel doesn't plan on any major changes in the way he regards Jimmy, he realizes now that laying on a small hospital bed with his brother isn't the most innocent-looking thing in the world. Not with the rumors that are apparently running rampant, anyway.

 

“Let's get some rest,” Jimmy says from his bed once Cas has settled into his own. The idea is so appealing that he's soon under before he can even agree, letting sleep take him in heaping waves into dreamless sleep.

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

Dean's never been part of a “fandom” before. If he had been, he might have had some kind of _warning_ about it – about how one fanfic leads to the next, leads to a Tumblr account and a LiveJournal app and hours spent on the goddamn computer or his smartphone when he could be out hanging out with his friends. He's never feigned illness to get out of going to the mall before, but that's exactly what he does as soon as school is over Monday afternoon. There's a span of several hours when no one would be home but him, and he's _so_ not going to miss out on a chance to get off while he reads.

 

Unfortunately, it's _fandom_ that ruins this plan, because something called a “fanvid” shows up on his dash and it has so many notes that he can't help but click it. He's in a very weird frame of mind right now, in this strange state of suspended apathy, as though his Big Gay Crisis has been put on hold for some reason. It might have to do with his friends pulverizing his secret gay crush, or maybe the fact that they are suddenly all unwilling to talk about it, but all Dean knows is that he can't bring himself to _give a shit_ about any of it right now.

 

The “fanvid” changes everything. It's a collection of clips of Cas and Jimmy from interviews and concerts and the Astral Projection documentary, all set to some cheesy song by some British guy Dean doesn't care about. What he does care about, though, is how... convincing, the video is. The way they look at each other when they're alone, the way their shoulders are always brushing or they're always touching in some way...

 

Dean thinks the twins might _actually_ be in love.

 

Fandom says this phenomenon – meaning the lurching feeling in his chest and the heat in his stomach – is called “shipping.” The more images and stories and videos he's assaulted with, the more Dean starts to feel himself become invested in their relationship. He wants them to be happy... together, strangely enough. Yet equal to that desire is the overwhelming wish that Castiel was _his_.

 

And then there's the part where Dean is not – _cannot_ be gay. It's all very confusing. The whole “not analyzing it” thing has been working for him so far, though, so he keeps pushing the deeper thoughts away in favor of reading porn and scrolling through Tumblr. He's inexplicably pleased when he gets his first follower; it's some girl named Becky who personally welcomes him to the fandom. He's never gotten an online message from a stranger before, and it strikes him abruptly that he can be whoever he wants to on here. He doesn't have to be Dean, the closeted douchebag jock. He can be... Todd, who's just some guy who's happy to be part of the fandom. Maybe he's gay, maybe he's not – Dean doesn't think the fandom would care either way.

 

It's really nice to just be Todd for a little while.

 

Dean's in the middle of surfing the web for new fanfiction when he gets a phone call. He considers not answering it, since he's still enjoying his personal time, so to speak, but the caller ID says that it's Sam and he's never been one to ignore a call from Sam.

 

“Dean?” Sam says, and something in his tone is so off that Dean's on alert immediately.

 

“Sammy, what's wrong?” Dean asks, voice firm and tight, trying to keep his worry from flooding through his words.

 

“I'm, uh... I'm in the hospital?” Sam says, hesitant, like he really wishes he didn't have to say the words. Dean's breath catches in his throat, and he's up and grabbing a jacket in a split second.

 

“What happened?” Dean demands as he takes the stairs two at a time, trying to calm himself down. Sam's conscious, anyway, so it can't be that bad. Sam's quiet for a moment, effectively increasing Dean' s anxiety.

 

“Sam!” Dean barks, and Sam sighs over the line.

 

“I fell out of a tree,” Sam says sheepishly. “Apparently I got knocked out. I woke up here with a broken arm and a slight concussion.”

 

“... a tree,” Dean repeats, incredulous as he climbs into the Impala and turns the key in the ignition and pulls the car into drive. “And why were you in a tree in the first place?”

 

Sam is quiet again.

 

“I... don't remember. Must be the concussion.”

 

“Bullshit. You're a bad liar, Sammy. Spill.”

 

“Fine,” Sam concedes easily enough, though his voice is laden with reluctance. “I was trying to impress Jessica. Our kite got caught in the top branches and I wanted to get it down for her.”

 

Dean can't help but laugh.

 

“Bet she wasn't too impressed when you fell,” he teases, and he can practically _hear_ Sam's classic bitchface through the phone. “I'm on my way, alright? What room are you in? I don't feel like going through the front desk.”

 

Dean hangs up after Sam gives him the room details, concentrating on fully on driving as fast as possible without causing an accident or getting pulled over. He knows, logically, that a broken arm and a minor concussion aren't much cause for alarm, but there's an itching anxiety under his skin that he knows won't go away until he sees Sam. He can't help but feel somewhat responsible, though he's having trouble figuring out how to put the blame on himself just yet. It's always his fault when Sam gets hurt, in his eyes and their dad's.

 

… Dad. Dean pictures the look on his face when he sees Sam's arm and the _hospital bill_ and his stomach churns with fear. John's held a steady job for several months now, finally, but Dean has no idea if he has health insurance yet. He knows they can't afford a hospital bill otherwise. He makes a mental note not to mention that to Sam, though; a broken arm is bad enough when you're not feeling guilty over it. Dean should have given him a talk about how to act around girls or something. Better yet, he could have gone with Sam wherever he went instead of beelining home to read some stupid gay porn.

 

Of _course_ it comes back to that. Dean's stupid problem that he's been foolishly indulging is to blame here. And here he's been practically _embracing_ it. It makes Dean sick now that he thinks about how far he's falling. Hell, gayness is the reason his friends are all facing criminal charges right now. That's another train of thought that Dean's studiously been avoiding, but now he can't help it. His teammates are in a world of trouble and he's _not_. He should be, though, and the guilt weighs so heavy on him he can barely think straight. He's beaten up more than his fair share of of high school boys; they all have. The odds that they end up jumping twin celebrities the day Dean's having a crisis were impossible. It's not fair, and it seems to only further incriminate him as the odd one out.

 

By the time Dean's made it to the hospital and is taking the elevator up to Sam's room, Dean feels positively shitty. The look of relief on Sam's face when Dean walks in, though, is enough to cheer him up by degrees. He ruffles Sam's hair and lightly punches him on his good arm, teasing him about literally “falling” for a girl. He suggests that it might officially be time for an awkward family dinner with the three of them, if Sam's going to be plummeting from trees for this Jessica girl. Sam blushes like the schoolgirl he is and shoves at Dean, rolling his eyes and trying to downplay Dean's teasing.

 

Within minutes, Dean gets bored of waiting for the doctor to return and give him the okay to check Sam out, so he volunteers to get them food from the cafeteria. Sam pouts because that means he's alone in the stuffy hospital room again, but Dean slips out the door fast enough to avoid the full intensity of Sam's puppy dog eyes. The kid has a gift, and Dean knows his own weaknesses. Better to skip out while he can.

 

On his way through the corridor, he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks, feet cemented to the spot.

 

“ _Mr. Novak, you and your brother should be cleared for check out early this evening. Until then, you and your brother should get some rest. The doctor will be in with more painkillers and a prescription later._

 

“ _Thank you”_ \- and the responding voice is one Dean couldn't ever forget if he tried. He's inadvertently stumbled upon the hospital room of Castiel and Jimmy Novak.

 

Without thinking, he catches the door as it's closing because he's not going to get another chance like this. He's got a team full of friends whose fates lie in the hands of these two pop stars, and now's his shot to try and plead their way out of it. It's a long shot, yeah, but Dean has to _try;_ it's got to be fate that's led him here, not that he believes in that kind of thing.

 

“It's you,” Dean says, eyes wide as he steps into the room. Castiel is asleep in the bed closest to the door, mouth parted slightly, the bright bruise over his left eye at odds with the otherwise peaceful picture he creates. Jimmy is awake in the other bed, sitting up with a book, and his expression is anything but welcoming. He snaps the book shut loudly as Dean closes the door behind him, eyebrows narrowed and gaze sharp.

 

“Can I help you?” Jimmy snaps, making it clear that helping Dean is the last thing he wants to do. Dean smiles sheepishly, trying to turn on the charm while his insides buzz with anxiety.

 

“You probably don't remember me,” Dean says, never dropping the smile, “but I was your waiter at the Roadhouse. I'm – ”

 

“I know exactly who you are, Dean Winchester,” Jimmy cuts him off, and finally Dean's smile falters.

 

“What?” he says dumbly, and Jimmy rolls his eyes and huffs, looking away in disdain.

 

“Dean Winchester, co-captain of the league of ignorant brutes that beat up me and my brother. Are you here to taunt us, or did you want to get a punch in yourself? I didn't see you the first time around.”

 

Dean feels like _he's_ been punched. For a brief, fleeting second there was a flash of excitement where it seemed like Jimmy might actually be aware of him, that somehow he was on this beautiful pop star's radar, that he was _important –_ but of course, it makes sense that Jimmy would know who the co-captains of the team of his attackers are. Dean's picture is on the town website, after all. No wonder Jimmy's anything but thrilled to see him. Dean swallows, hard, and scrambles for words. He has to fix this.

 

“You've got me all wrong,” Dean says slowly. “I wouldn't do that.”

 

_Not if I knew it was you._

 

Dean figures he's probably earned the disbelieving look that Jimmy's giving him, but for his friends' sake – hell for _his_ sake – he has to convince Jimmy that he's sincere.

 

“You're all the same,” Jimmy says tiredly, pinching the bridges of nose and sinking back into the bed. “I bet you do this all the time. Tell me, Dean – how many people has your team hurt because they're gay? Or, y'know, because they're wearing skinny jeans. Apparently that's a crime in Lawrence.”

 

Dean knows his silence is damning, but he can't bring himself to look Jimmy in the eyes.

 

“Are you going to press charges against them?” Dean asks quietly, and he looks up just in time to detect the slightest bit of surprise in the way Jimmy's eyes widen minutely.

 

“They haven't told you, then,” Jimmy mutters, almost to himself it seems, before looking back at Dean. “I'm not at liberty to discuss that – but I don't see any reason we shouldn't. You may have everyone else in your town scared, but your system of power doesn't touch us. Why shouldn't we shame your team nationwide, worldwide? Why shouldn't we expose you all for the ignorant, self-important jerks you are?”

 

Jimmy is positively seething, and every word falls on Dean's shoulders like lead. He wants to be angry, wants to tell Jimmy that he's wrong and that fags don't get to call normal people _anything_... but he can't. Because he knows how wrong he'd be and how right Jimmy is. Still, his friends are on the line here, and this is his only shot at fixing this.

 

“C'mon, man, you really don't wanna do that,” Dean says, shooting for lighthearted and falling short. Jimmy's face is a stone wall.

 

“Well, Dean, you're asking everything of me and offering nothing in return,” he says. “I've got no reason to believe you're not a dick like your friends and no incentive not to press charges. Sounds to me like the conversation's over.”

 

Dean thinks idly that the characterization of Jimmy in most fics he's read is completely off. Jimmy is sassy as hell in real life.

 

“Let me make it up to you,” Dean hears himself saying, surprised even as the words leave his lips. Jimmy raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback himself. He takes a moment to respond, all the while scrutinizing Dean in a way that makes him really, really uncomfortable.

 

“Fine,” Jimmy says finally, and Dean has to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. There's no way he's hearing correctly.

 

“Fine?” he stammers, incredulous.

 

“But you're not making it up to me. It's Castiel I care about. I think he's losing his faith in humanity or something and it... it breaks my heart to see it.” Jimmy's voice sort of goes weird at the end, breaks a little, and the look he casts in the direction of Castiel's sleeping form is surely nothing short of _true love._ Dean feels something wistful turn in his gut and he wishes Jimmy would go kiss him or something.

 

Tumblr says this is called “shipper feels.” Dean kind of loathes the term, but he can't help but think it might be accurate.

 

“How?” Dean asks, following Jimmy's gaze, chewing his lip.

 

“Be his friend,” Jimmy says firmly, meeting Dean's gaze head on. “Show him not all jocks are homophobic assholes. Unless, y'know, having a gay friend is too gay-by-association for you.”

 

Dean catches his breath and his heart skips a beat because – because it's one thing to _suspect_ that your celebrity crush is gay, and it's another thing entirely to have it confirmed from the horse's mouth. Suddenly all the fanfiction seems valid, justified even. The idea that it all might be real makes something sing in him.

 

And then there's the part of him that he's trying to push out, the part that practically explodes with the crazy, impossible thought that _'now I have a chance with him_.' He crushes the thought immediately, shoves it way, way down and out of reach. That's a level of gay that he's not ready to dive into just yet. He'll abide the shipping bullshit – especially now that he's certain it's _real –_ but he can't entertain hopes of dating another guy. He has to draw the line somewhere.

 

“Figures,” Jimmy mutters, and Dean realizes he's been silent for longer than makes sense for the conversation.

 

“No! No. I mean, I'll do it. I want to do it.” _God,_ does he ever want to do it. “Just promise you won't prosecute my friends.”

 

Jimmy appraises him a moment, probably trying to gauge his sincerity. Finally, he offers his hand for a handshake.

 

“Deal.”

 

Dean's heart flutters in his chest as he takes friggin' _Jimmy Novak's hand_ and shakes it _._

 

“How about the three of us go to the Roadhouse as soon as you're healed enough to go places?” Dean offers. He's not stupid, of course. He'll plan it at a time he's sure no one will see him, make sure he's in a corner of the place that's out of sight. He'll think of something to tell Jo – hell, maybe even half of the truth – and make sure she's their waitress. He can handle this.

 

Jimmy actually smiles at him, which... wow. Dean's speechless. The only way it would be better is if it was Castiel doing the smiling. This all goddamn surreal, and a part of him wonders if he's dreaming.

 

“Sounds perfect. I'll see you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally dean's blog 
> 
> [i am so sorry](http://casboy.tumblr.com/)


	5. Texting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You've got an ally in me, Dean. Don't ruin it by being an asshole.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really like to see this through to the end, but it's getting difficult to write and I don't know where I want them to end up and I'm getting kinda frustrated.
> 
> If you want to this story to be continued, please send me any and all ideas you guys get for possible outcomes/scenes/anything really for the fic because I'm getting bored with it and out of inspiration and yeah idk
> 
> sorry this update's short/nothing happens in it. it was like, post it now or quit forever lol i've been staring at that dumb word doc for hours. my apologies. work is unbeta'd, pls politely point out mistakes as you find them.

**Jimmy**

 

Cas wakes, as always, with all the grace of a beached walrus, yawning wide and stretching his limbs everywhere, only to wince and scowl when his body protests all the abrupt movement. Jimmy forces himself to wait before he says anything, letting his brother have a moment to crack his jaw and look around sleepily, hair sticking up in all directions. Cas finally meets Jimmy's eyes and they smile in synch.

 

“Glad you're up, sleepy bear,” Jimmy says fondly. “The doctor just said we're free to go in a couple minutes, once Crowley finishes with the paperwork.”

 

Cas wrinkles up his nose in distaste, something he's done since he was little.

 

“Crowley's here?” he grumbles, voice so much deeper than Jimmy's own despite sharing identical vocal cords. Jimmy's always been fascinated by these kinds of differences between the two of them, the kinds others can perceive. Naturally, he could never confuse himself with his brother, but it's always interesting to see the thing outsiders have to latch onto in order to distinguish between them.

 

“I haven't seen him,” Jimmy responds with a shrug. “He might just be here to handle the doctors. I think he might also be dropping off our new bodyguards. They're round-the-clock now, apparently.”

 

Cas sighs, and his shoulders slump just the slightest bit, but enough that Jimmy notices.

 

“It might not be so bad having them around,” Jimmy offers, but Cas gives him a pointed _cut the crap_ look in response.

 

“They're always brutes,” Cas says dejectedly. “Oversized in order to intimidate people, never any good company.”

 

“We told Crowley we didn't want any thuggish guys for company. Maybe he remembered when he picked them.”

 

Jimmy certainly feels the gravity of Cas' objections, but Cas is already so down that it's imperative that he remain positive. Thankfully, he thinks the phone number in his pocket, hastily scribbled in awful handwriting in a hospital napkin, might be enough to lift his twin's spirits. It isn't until Cas gives him a peculiar look that he realizes he's smiling, suddenly eager to share his good news.

 

“Jimmy?” Cas prompts, curious.

 

“Guess who happened by while you were sleeping?” Jimmy asks, wiggling an eyebrow. Cas looks positively stumped, brow wrinkled, head tilted, the whole nine yards. Jimmy laughs.

 

“Don't hurt yourself, alright? It was Dean Winchester.”

 

Cas' all but crumples immediately, dissolving into something dark and unhappy. He looks at his hands, turning over a corner of the hospital blanket.

 

“What did he want?” Cas almost _mutters_ , which isn't something Cas usually does.

 

“Cas – Cas, buddy. I'm smiling for a reason,” Jimmy says slowly, trying to coax Cas out of his dismal assumptions. “Dean wanted to make it up to us. To _you._ He wants to be your friend. We're going back to the Roadhouse with him tomorrow.”

 

Cas looks up abruptly, eyes wide and blue, brow knit in disbelief as he stares at Jimmy, piecing the words together. His expression fades from disbelief to cautious surprise, though, eyebrows arching up, eyes still wide as ever. The look, comical as it is, suits Cas much better than the awful melancholy that's been written in his features since the attack.

 

“Dean Winchester wants to be my friend,” Cas echoes, awed, and Jimmy can't help but feel... a little uneasy.

 

Jimmy Novak is not a liar. In fact, there are few things in existence that Jimmy loathes more than lying to his brother. He's not a fan of lying in general, either; it's not how he was raised, not that that's saying much, and is at odds with who he is and aspires to be. Jimmy and Cas are straight-laced choir boys, upstanding citizens and essentially _good_ people. That said, Jimmy is not above lying for the right reasons – and his brother's happiness is _always_ the right reason, no matter what.

 

So it is not without some trepidation that Jimmy proceeds to _not_ mention his deal with Dean.

 

“I don't think he's like the others, Cas.” _I'll make sure of it._ “He really hates what they did. He came here to apologize on behalf of his team. Pretty noble of him, actually.”

 

Cas chews his chapped up bottom lip and doesn't ay anything, but Jimmy thinks he sees the very beginnings of a smile quirking at one edge of his mouth. He breathes a sigh of relief. It's good to see Cas smile, even if it's not much of a smile. It's a start.

 

Before Jimmy can pluck Dean's number from his pocket and hand it over to his brother, Crowley walks in with two people Jimmy's not familiar with, both clad in matching black suits. One is a beautiful woman, to Jimmy's surprise, tall with long ash-brown hair and an effortless confidence in the subtle smile on her lips. The other is a man, a few inches taller than her, sporting a short beard, with eyes surprisingly soft and kind. Their attire would imply that they're the new bodyguards, but neither is what Jimmy had been picturing and he's thrown off.

 

“Boys,” Crowley says with a smile, “these two lovelies are your new security personnel. You said 'no brutes', and I delivered. Aren't I a saint? Bela and Benny specialize in brains, not brawn.”

 

“Which isn't to say we're not the best there is at both,” the woman says, British accent rolling from her lips as she extends her hand to Jimmy. “Pleasure to meet you. Bela Talbot.”

 

“Jimmy,” Jimmy mumbles, still surprised, a little distracted by her looks as he shakes her hand. The man shakes his hand next, effectively shaking him out of his reverie at the same time.

 

“Benny Lafitte. Nice to meet you, kid,” he says, genuine smile paired with a gentle southern accent giving the man the feel of someone very much disinclined to violence. Jimmy decides that he likes him.

 

They shake hands with Cas, as well, and then the four of them go over a rundown of how security will work for the twins from now on. They will go nowhere without Bela and Benny, and give them both notification of any plans they might have so that the place can be checked out and the area can be secured. Their security guards will almost always be out of sight of the boys, blending into surroundings but ever vigilant.

 

“We're here to keep you safe,” Benny says kindly at one point, “not make anybody uncomfortable.”

 

Bela and Benny, thankfully, are in the room across the hall from Cas and Jimmy at the hotel. Jimmy's not sure what he'd do if he had to share his personal space with strangers on his off time. He had a hard enough time adjusting to the other band members.

 

Jimmy almost forgets about the phone number in his pocket, doesn't think about it until he's in a cab heading back to the hotel with Jimmy on one side and Bela on the other, Benny sitting up front. He pulls it out with a grin and wags the paper in front of Cas' face, too close for Cas' eyes to focus. Cas goes cross-eyed trying to figure out what's before him before finally plucking it from Jimmy's hands. Jimmy watches Cas' expression as Cas read the one word – Dean's name – and the combination of numbers beneath it. Cas' eyes are wide and Jimmy fancies he sees his brother's hands tremble while he digs for his phone, clutching the paper tight.

 

*

 

**Castiel**

 

Castiel figures it's a safe enough text message.

 

_Hello, Dean._

 

Polite, friendly, to the point. Castiel figures that's what texting's about anyway... right? He only ever texts Jimmy or occasionally Gabe, and certainly not often enough to get any semblance of a feel for texting etiquette. He doesn't think he can go wrong with this.

 

It's about a millisecond after that he gets a response, and he's so surprised by the vibration of his phone that he drops it and has to go digging around the bottom of the cab to find it.

 

_whos dis??_

 

Castiel frowns at his phone, and Jimmy takes it from him almost immediately, looking at the screen suspiciously. He laughs once he reads it, though, which puts Castiel at ease despite his concern.

 

“He's one of _those_ texters. Someone needs to let him know that chatspeak was only excusable before phones started coming with full keyboards. Tell him it's you, Cas.”

 

Castiel nods dutifully and leans over his phone, typing away.

 

_This is Castiel._

 

Jimmy rolls his eyes at Castiel's hunched shoulders and nervous hands, and Castiel suddenly, inexplicably wishes he could be doing this in private. He feels foolish and exposed here in a cab with these new strangers and his brother, anxiously texting a straight boy who is kind enough to feel bad for him. He tries to be cautiously optimistic, though, because if Jimmy says Dean wants to be his friend, he surely has good reason to.

 

_o hey cas lol srry thought vic gave some1 my # again he keeps doing that. how r u? btw how does dinner @ roadhouse w jimmy tmrw 9:30pm sound?_

 

The car is quiet enough that the sharp sigh Castiel lets out when he reads this text sounds loud. Bela and Jimmy both give him matching curious looks. Castiel hands out his phone to Jimmy silently, eyes focused out the window.

 

“What do you think, Cas? Wanna go?”

 

Cas nods, almost imperceptibly.

 

“Yes.”

 

*

 

 

**Dean**

 

Dean could never, ever articulate how grateful he is that he got his text messages from Cas _after_ baseball practice. He's not sure he could have maintained his composure. As it is, he's grinning like an idiot as he walks the short way from the field to his house – he left Impala at home in light of enjoying some unseasonably warm autumn weather – typing away to Cas. The formal way Cas texts – capitals and punctuation and all – makes Dean laugh. He nearly has a meltdown of pure excitement when Cas and Jimmy accept his offer to dinner, like it's a goddamn _date_ or something. Despite the fact that he's on his way home from baseball practice, he hasn't thought once about how wrong this is.

 

He's too excited.

 

Dean's waiting too anxiously for the next text to look where he's walking, and doesn't realize there's someone else on the sidewalk until he nearly plows into them.

 

“Sorry -” he starts, until he sees who it is that he nearly ran into. It's Jo, standing with a hand on her hip and a knowing grin on her face, eyebrows arched up high. Dean freezes.

 

“Damn, was I ever right! Dean Winchester, you've got it _bad –_ like, officially. When do I get to meet her?”

 

“Her?” Dean says dumbly, thoughts still half-focused on the phone in his hands.

 

“Cassie. Y'know, mystery girl who is apparently _not_ Cassie Robinson from French class. The one you're clearly texting right now, judging by the dopey smile on your face. It's the same smile from before. I know that look, sugar. It's love.”

 

Dean nearly drops his phone at that, the 'l-word' finally arresting all his attention.

 

“I am _not_ in love with him,” he says automatically, resolutely, seeking to distance himself from that awful word. Apparently he said the wrong thing, though, because Jo's arm fall to her side and the smug look on her face all but evaporates.

 

“Oh my god,” she says, and then looks around before pulling in close to Dean. “Cassie's a _guy?”_ she whispers, eyes wide as saucers.

 

Dean can feel all the blood drain from his face; his heart stops. He takes a step backward, expression clouding with something dark.

 

“I didn't say that,” he says, voice low and boiling with severity. Jo blinks rapidly before taking a step forward, shaking her head, expression earnest.

 

“Oh, Dean – I don't care if you – ”

 

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Dean snaps, and some of the sympathy in Jo's eyes fades. She crosses her arms, then, giving Dean a watered down version of one of her classic glares.

 

“Don't insult my intelligence, Dean. Be a dick about it for now if you want, but I expect you to be over this by, like, tomorrow because there's nothing worse than you being self-righteous when you're wrong.” Her voice and features soften just the slightest bit after that. “You've got an ally in me, Dean. Don't ruin it by being an asshole.”

 

Then she walks around Dean and continues the way she was walking without another word, leaving Dean panicking with a lot to think about.

 

*

 

Sam's jacket is hanging by the door when Dean finally, finally makes it home. Dean wanders to the living room to find him, eager for some small talk about how Sam's feeling since Dean dropped him off from the hospital, how homework's going, _something_. What he isn't expecting to find is Sam sitting on the couch with a very, very familiar stack of magazines sitting on the coffee table before him. Sam's not looking at the magazines, though; he's just smiling smugly at Dean.

 

With a sinking feeling, Dean walks over to the coffee table and looks at the magazines, hoping against hope it's not what he thinks it is. As expected, they are _exactly_ what he thinks they are – the Astral Projection teen magazines he's been keeping under his bed for weeks now.

 

“So,” Sam says, with a wiggle of his eyebrow, “Astral Projection, huh?”

 

If his earlier conversation with Jo wasn't enough, it is now official – Dean is _screwed_.

 

 

 

 


	6. Counting the Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jimmy's gaydar is clearly broken._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone made a fuckyeahjimstiel on tumblr! Props to whoever did that, it was such a fun surprise lol. 
> 
> Sorry it's so late! I'm starting to think "every Sunday" might not be a very good deadline. I'm going to aim for a much more vague "once a week" goal. 
> 
> As always, unbeta'd. Send me the mistakes you come across, please!

**Dean**

 

“It's not what it looks like,” Dean says immediately, eyes wide and panicked, and Sam's grin only widens. His eyebrows dart up into his shaggy fringe and Dean briefly considers grabbing the stack of magazines and smacking his little brother with them.

 

“I think it is, Dean,” Sam says, smug, “and I think you know what it means.”

 

Dean can think of about a thosusand things this could mean, starting with Sam never looking at him the same again and ending with the whole baseball team taking turns waling on him until he's nothing more than a writhing bruise. He swallows hard with a dry throat, staring at Sam as he struggles for an explanation.

 

“It means,” Sam continues when Dean doesn't answer, “that Mr. Driver-Picks-The-Music, Classic-Rock-or-Die Winchester likes _pop music._ And not just _likes_ it – you're practically their biggest fan. Oh man, I have blackmail on you until the day you die. This is awesome.”

 

… Wait.

 

Sam didn't say _“gay”_. Oh, god – Dean's _real_ secret is still safe. Sam just thinks Astral Projection is Dean's new Led Zepellin or something. _He doesn't know._ Dean's so relieved he actually sighs, huge and heavy, letting a vast and invisible weight roll from his shoulders. Sam frowns, crossing his arms petulantly.

 

“Can you at least, like, react? This is the find of the century and you're not even letting me live in the moment.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, finally getting his groove back and settling into big brother mode again. He picks up the stack of magazines, Sam watching him carefully, before he speaks.

 

“Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but you've got nothing,” he says with an easy smile. Sam narrows his eyes.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“All you've got on me right now is these magazines, which I'm about to go out back and burn –”

 

“Dean! No fair!”

 

“ – and your word. And seriously, dude, who's gonna believe you over me? This has been cute though. A for effort, Sammy! Let's just pretend this never happened.”

 

Sam's sitting back on the couch, now, shoulders slumped, puppy-dog pout bitchface combo on at full blast. He looks so sullen that Dean _almost_ feels bad, but he's too much of an older brother to let that change anything. Besides, this was a little... too close for comfort, anyway. Too close to the real truth, the thing he'd do almost anything to hide.

 

While Dean truly does have every intention of going out back and lighting his magazines on fire, he can't help but change his mind when he looks down and sees the five of them smiling up at him in their color-coordinated clothes. He doublechecks four times that Sam isn't following him before tip-toeing up the stairs to his room, magazines in tow.

 

*

 

> _if u were a boy & u were gonna meet AP (well just jimmy+cas) what would you wear?_
> 
> _i mean like hypothetically bc i would never meet them lol but like what if?_

 

Dean stares at his laptop a long moment before hastily tagging his Tumblr post # _astral projection_ and pressing 'submit'. He somehow managed to make it through a whole school day, knowing that he'd be hanging out with two _celebrities_ tonight. 

 

And, of course, they're not just any celebrities.

 

Now, though, he's got work in an hour and he has to get dressed... and he has no idea what to wear. Since they're meeting at the Roadhouse after Dean's shift, what Dean wears to work is what he'll have to wear when the twins arrive. The pressure is kind of overwhelming. He can't exactly ask Sam for advice, either, even though he's pretty sure Sam would be good at this kind of thing. Twice, Dean almost called Jo, but he's not sure he can face her tonight after asking for help choosing an outfit. Hell, he's not even sure he can face her anyway. He still hasn't spoken to her since their run-in yesterday.

 

His last option, then, was asking the fandom. He's inexplicably nervous about it; he doesn't use his blog to interact much, usually, just reblogs things and posts pictures from Google. He only has 17 followers, so he doubts anyone will respond. Still... he figures it's worth asking. He refreshes every other minute and wallows in how ridiculous this all is. 

 

The only person who writes back is some asshole who tells him that he should (hypothetically) just “be himself”. He wants to punch said person through the internet, but he figures that's probably best left unsaid. The AP fandom is pretty vicious when it comes to protecting its own. 

 

He stares at his closet dejectedly and starts tossing options on his bed – all variations of plaid, baseball jerseys and layers, all sort of blending into each other. He doesn't have any skinny jeans or bright hoodies like Jimmy and Castiel, and for the first time in his life he wonders if he _should_. His hands are on his phone and dialing a number before he's even aware of what he's doing.

 

He actually jumps when he hears Jo's voice on the other end of the line.

 

“... Hello?” she says, sounding surprised, though not unhappy to hear from him. Dean's mouth goes dry. What was he _thinking_?

 

“Jo,” he manages to croak out, and Jo just laughs.

 

“I know how hard _feelings_ are for you, Winchester. Why don't you start with a name? Or is he really called _Cassie?_ ”

 

“Castiel,” Dean hears his voice saying without any approval from his brain. “His name's Castiel, and I'm seeing him tonight. I, uh... I don't know what to wear.”

 

There is a noise from Jo's end of the phone that sounds suspiciously like a muffled squeal.

 

“I'll be right over.”

 

*

 

Dean feels practically naked. He's not used to wearing less than two layers at any given time, and Jo has him in one _thin_ long-sleeved green shirt that apparently makes his eyes “pop”. She even bats his hands away when he goes to do his hair, taking the gel and styling it herself in elegant spikes he could never accomplish himself. 

 

He looks... good. Really good. He gives himself a minute to ogle his reflection in the mirror, shifting one eyebrow then the other before giving himself a wink. Oh yeah, Dean Winchester looks _phenomenal._ Jo rolls her eyes at his unabashed narcissism as she pulls on her jacket, getting ready to go.

 

“Come on, Casanova – no pun intended. If we don't leave now we'll both be late for work.”

 

Dean instinctively grabs for his letterman jacket, but Jo plucks it from where it lays in a heap on his bed and shoves it in his closet.

 

“No layers. Not even the security blanket letterman. Do you wanna be Dean the baseball star to him, or do you want to be Dean, yourself?” she asks him seriously, pointedly shutting the closet door when she sees Dean's less-than-convinced expression.

 

“That depends,” he says after a moment of pretending to consider her question. “Which one's hotter?”

 

Jo groans and shoves Dean playfully, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly again in an effort to aptly convey her disdain.

 

“Obviously it's the real Dean Winchester, don't be an ass. No offense to your lackeys, but you guys put on those uniforms and turn into douchey drone-clones. I like you best when you're at the Roadhouse and don't have anyone to impress. If you wanna woo this Cas guy, that's the Dean you have to show him.”

 

Dean frowns and tugs at the edge of his sleeve, looking away.

 

“It's not... it's not a date, or anything. Just so we're clear. I'm just having dinner with him and his brother. He doesn't know I – I mean, he doesn't –” 

 

Jo gives him a sweet, sympathetic smile before chuckling lightly, almost to herself. Dean raises an eyebrow in question but she just shakes her head.

 

“ _Boys,”_ she says with a long-suffering sigh, and walks through the doorway. Dean casts one last look at himself in the mirror before following her down the steps, trying to interpret the unknowable implications in Jo's tone. 

 

Just as they reach the front door, it opens to reveal John at the other end of it, pocketing his keys. Dean instinctively checks all the main indicators of drunkenness – eyes and stance. John's eyes don't look bloodshot and there's an air of sobriety to his gait as he walks through the door, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief. John doesn't drink at work, not anymore, so he doesn't come _home_ drunk as often as he once did. More often than not he sits on the couch and drinks and drinks once he's made it home... but he keeps the mortgage paid and doesn't start fights most of the time, so Dean can't complain. It used to be worse, after all. 

 

Rather than drunk, John just looks tired, which is sort of his default setting. He's still wearing his mechanic's uniform, which is dirty and damp with sweat, but he has a smile to spare for Jo when he sees her.

 

“Joanna Beth,” he says, sounding happier to see her than Dean can remember him sounding when John sees him. “You haven't been around here in ages. Good to see you. How's your mama doing?”

 

She smiles back politely, accepting a handshake in lieu of a hug because John's so messy.

 

“Good to see you too, sir. She's doing very well. Some bigshot burger guy did a review of the Roadhouse, so business has been booming.”

 

“That's good,” he says with a satisfied nod, like the information suits him. He looks at Dean, then, and Dean watches as his father takes in his clothes and his hair, both so much nicer than his usual attempts. Then John looks between Dean and Jo, and Dean can practically _see_ the wheels in his father's head turning.

 

“You two going on a date?” he asks finally, and Dean has to smile.

 

“No, sir. That'd be weird. We've been friends since, like, kindergarten.”

 

“I've never been one for the heartthrobs, Mr. Winchester. Your son's pouty blue steel has no effect on me. Apparently it's formal night at the Roadhouse tonight and I missed the memo, which is why Dean doesn't look like his ususal slouchy self, but I do. I'm hoping my mom won't notice. And on that note, we're running late! – nice seeing you, Mr. Winchester!”

 

Jo grabs Dean's arm and tugs him through the front door before John has a chance to reply, both of them throwing goodbyes over their shoulders on their way to the car. They both collapse into giggles the minute Dean has the key in the ignition and the car in drive.

 

“Nice save,” Dean tells her.

 

“I couldn't decide what was worse – your dad thinking we're dating or your dad knowing you were going on a date with someone else and asking questions. So I did the natural thing.”

 

“And ran out the front door,” Dean deadpans, and Jo laughs again.

 

“Saved our asses, didn't I?”

 

“That you did, Jo. Thanks, dude.”

 

“Don't mention it. You can pay me back with details about your date.”

 

“It's not a – ”

 

Jo rolls her eyes, and Dean considers warning her that they might roll out of her head soon if she doesn't slow her down with it.

 

“Not a date, sure, sure. Whatever you say, Dean.”

 

*

 

**Castiel**

 

 

> _im excited 2 c u tonite :-D_
> 
>  

Castiel is not particularly well known for his dazzling smiles; in fact, jokes about his eternally impassive expression are regularly made at his expense. It is perhaps because of this that Jimmy keeps giving him strange looks from behind his book whenever Castiel receives a text. Castiel hadn't even realized he's been grinning every time his phone vibrates until Jimmy pointed it out.

 

“Dean says he is excited to see me,” Castiel tells Jimmy from the bathroom, where he's standing, halfway through the process of shaving. He hears Jimmy chuckle from the other room.

 

“Why do I feel like I'm going to be a third wheel tonight, hm?” Jimmy asks, though Castiel knows he's teasing. Castiel is certain Dean meant that he is excited to see _both_ of them. 

 

“I don't know what you mean,” Castiel says honestly, shaving cream dripping from his razor. “You're much better at conversation. You have better 'people skills'. If nothing else, I will probably end up quietly listening to you and our new friend talk.”

 

“I dunno, Cas. He has both of our numbers, but he's only been texting one of us all day.”

 

Again, Castiel feels an unbidden smile creep onto his lips.

 

“Yes, I suppose that's true,” he concedes, before hastily tapping out a response.

 

> _I am counting the minutes._

 

*

 

**Dean**

 

“Are these _nerves_ I am sensing from _Dean Winchester?”_ Jo teases, crossing her eyes and smirking at Dean, eyebrows raised as she leans against the bar where Dean's sitting. Dean pockets his nametag and looks at his watch – the twins will be here any minute. He sighs deep before mustering up a comeback.

 

“I don't get nerves, thanks,” he snips, but the twisting in his stomach begs to differ.

 

A couple walks in, and Dean can hardly hide his disappointment when he sees it's not Jimmy and Cas. Jo wanders off to seat them, smirking at Dean over her shoulder.

 

“Seat yourselves when they get here,” she tells him. “Sit in my section so you can make sure I'm your waitress.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mutters, but he has to admit – if only to himself – that he's grateful that Jo knows about Cas and that he has her on his team. The whole situation seems significantly less... _wrong_ , when someone else knows and doesn't hate him for it.

 

He's lost in his thoughts when the twins finally arrive, and he doesn't notice them until well after they're both approaching him where he's sitting at the bar. He nearly jumps when Cas speaks and he looks up to find one twin on either side of him.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

“Jesus,” Dean breathes. _Smooth, Dean._ He wonders a little desperately if this is going to set the course for the whole evening. Jimmy snickers and Cas tilts his head to the side, clearly confused, and _damn_ if that's not the cutest thing in the world.

 

… and _damn_ if that wasn't the gayest _thought_ in the world.

 

“Did we scare you, Winchester?” Jimmy asks, smirk on his lips, and Dean laughs.

 

“I don't scare that easy,” Dean replies, getting to his feet to lead them to their table, and Jimmy snorts.

 

“Sure,” he says, sarcastic, and Dean makes a mental note to tell the internet to stop writing Jimmy so passively. Guy is sassy as hell.

 

Dean takes them to a booth in the very back of Jo's section of the place, secluded from curious eyes – and potential threats. Dean knows for a fact that it's essentially impossible to see this area from anywhere else in the pub unless you're the one taking the order, and he lets himself relax as he sits down. Jimmy and Cas sit close, opposite Dean, and Dean has to fight hard not to _swoon_. Their shoulders are touching and everything – and they _match_. Cas is wearing a light blue hoodie with a navy blazer, and Jimmy's wearing a red hoodie with a grey blazer. They're both wearing the same shirt; it's black and says _It's Funnier In Enochian_ in white letters, with a strange symbol in the middle. 

 

“Castiel is in blue,” Jimmy comments, “and I'm in red, clearly. Figured I should mention. People find it hard to tell us apart.”

 

“I already knew that,” Dean says automatically without thinking, and cringes at the matching skeptical looks on their faces.

 

“You can tell us apart?” Cas asks, brow furrowed, and Jimmy laughs.

 

“You're totally a fan, aren't you?” 

 

Dean wants to sink into the floor.

 

At that moment, thankfully, Jo arrives with a notepad and pen in hand. Her jaw drops when she sees Dean's company, though, and she looks back and forth between them in an almost comedic way. _Almost_ being the key word. This was a horrible idea.

 

“Dean. No shit. You didn't mention Cas was a _celebrity._ His little boyband was here the other night when you – oh my god. That's why you –”

 

Jo seems to suddenly realize that the twins in their company are actually human beings with ears and eyes, just when Dean thinks he can feel his face burning his flesh away. To her credit, Jo looks about as mortified as Dean, and she quickly composes herself.

 

“Uh. Welcome to the Roadhouse. My name is Jo and I'll be your server tonight,” she says, passing out menus. Dean quickly grabs one and hides behind it.

 

They order drinks – chocolate milkshakes for the twins and a soda for Dean – and Jo skirts away, leaving Dean to deal with the aftermath. The table falls silent once she leaves, with Dean pretending to be heavily invested in the menu he knows by heart.

 

“You left because of us?” Cas asks finally, cutting through the silence, and Dean thinks the guy is _clearly_ devoid of tact. They're supposed to not talk about this.

 

“Um,” he says, studying the beverage section of the menu like he didn't just order his drink.

 

“I don't understand,” Cas persists, and Jimmy sighs heavily before leaning in close to Cas and whispering something in his ear. Dean can't help but look up and watch it happen, watch how close Jimmy's lips get to his brothers skin, picture how his breath is surely tickling Cas' ear. 

 

Goddamn _shipper feels_.

 

Cas' eyes widen at whatever Jimmy tells him, and he turns back to Dean.

 

“You were nervous, weren't you?” Cas asks him, no accusation in his voice. He's studying Dean like he's some kind of insect under a microscope or some difficult puzzle, like there's nothing he wants more in this moment than to _solve_ Dean somehow. 

 

“I don't get nervous,” Dean says, too quiet, and swallows hard. Cas' eyes dart to his throat when Dean swallows, clearly tracking the movement, acutely aware of it. Dean wants to hide under the table, but he can't force himself to look away.

 

“I used to throw up before every show,” Cas says, voice falling to the same low volume as Dean's, still staring. “Nerves.”

 

That's not something the gossip magazines ever mentioned.

 

“No one could ever tell from watching you,” Dean hears himself saying, seemingly without his own permission. “You're perfect once you get on that stage.”

 

This time it's Cas' turn to swallow hard, and Dean's turn to watch, transfixed. The blue in Cas' hoodie and blazer make his eyes pop like a friggin' firework or something, the low lighting of the Roadhouse making his skin glow. Dean gets the distinct feeling that the two of them are the only people in the room.

 

“Thank you,” Cas says, nearly inaudible now, and Jimmy abruptly clears his throat, announcing his presence, and the reverie is broken.

 

“So which burgers do you recommend?” he asks, gesturing to the menu. “You work here after all.”

 

Dean reluctantly pries his eyes away from Cas to look at the menu.

 

“The bacon cheddar one is my favorite, but the classic is pretty good. Basically everything on the menu is good. Can't really go wrong at the Roadhouse. Ellen is a god in the kitchen.”

 

“I'll get that one, then,” Jimmy says, closing his menu decidedly at the exact same time Cas does. Dean wants to scream into a pillow.

 

“Who's Ellen?” Cas asks, and damnit if the guy is _staring_ again. 

 

And damnit if Dean isn't staring back.

 

“She runs the place. She's awesome. She's like an aunt to me, always has been ever since... ever since I was four years old. Cooks better burgers than anyone I know.”

 

Cas nods.

 

“She sounds wonderful.”

 

Dean _almost_ slips and says _You're wonderful_ , but thankfully he reigns in just enough self-control to refrain.

 

This is going to be a long dinner.

 

*

 

**Jimmy**

 

Jimmy's gaydar is clearly broken. 

 

Two days ago, Jimmy would have bet a considerable amount of money that Dean was straight. Now, though, he'd probably bet his whole band that this guy has a raging crush on his brother – his _brother,_ specifically. Just Cas. Dean looks at Cas like Cas hung the moon in the sky and then offered to lasso it down for him. Jimmy thinks he might actually be getting cavities, watching these two stare at each other.

 

This... changes things. Sort of. Jimmy wanted Dean to be Cas' _friend_ , to help restore some of Cas' faith in humanity and to prove that even straight jocks can be nice guys sometimes. And even if Dean _wasn't_ a nice guy, he'd be playing nice guy because he thinks Jimmy can ruin his friend's lives. They leave for Europe in a month, and Cas would be none the wiser of their arrangement. Everybody wins.

 

Now, though – now things are complicated. Jimmy has no idea if this guy is good enough for his brother. He has no idea what his intentions are or how this will end, especially with an upcoming overseas tour. Never mind the fact that Cas seriously can't be in a relationship right now; Crowley would have a fit, it'd jeopardize the band and almost definitely end up on every gossip magazine and website known to man. Jimmy is slightly overwhelmed. He totally didn't sign up for this. 

 

Still, Jimmy can't bring himself to be entirely convinced this is a bad thing. He's never seen anyone look at his brother that way before, and he's never seen his brother look at anyone else like that before. Jimmy thinks it's what life might be like if they weren't international pop stars and homophobia wasn't still raging like an STD across the country. Cas could be happy, could have a boyfriend who told him how great he sings and texted him all day and took him on dates and just did... _normal_ stuff. Stuff every teenager should be allowed to do.

 

The idea makes Jimmy's heart ache, and it's certainly messing with his judgment.

 

It's this temporary lapse of judgment that causes Jimmy to announce that he's not feeling well and ask Jo to box up his burger when she arrives with it. Cas' concerned, kicked puppy look is enough to make Jimmy feel almost guilty, but he waves off Cas' worried inquiries.

 

“I just feel a little queasy, Cas. I'm fine. But, I – I think I'm going to head back to the hotel and lie down. The smell of food everywhere is making me feel like heaving.”

 

Cas reluctantly glances at Dean before looking back to Jimmy. There's an adorably dejected slump to Dean's shoulders, and, yeah – Dean's got it bad for Cas.

 

“I understand,” Cas says quietly. “We can always reschedule. I'm very sorry, Dean –”

 

Jimmy shakes his head emphatically.

 

“No way. Look, your dinner's already here. You guys enjoy, okay? I'll be _fine_ , Cas. Just have a good time.”

 

Cas still kind of looks like someone spit in his applesauce, but Jimmy knows he'll be fine. They both need to work on the codependency thing, but Cas certainly has it worst. Jimmy figures the best way to start is by shoving him in the right direction. Cas can totally do this. Jimmy has faith in him. He leans close to Cas to reinforce the point.

 

“You'll be fine, too, Cas,” he whispers, voice low enough that only Cas can hear.

 

Cas looks like he wants to say something, _plea_ maybe, but Jo is back with Jimmy's burger and Jimmy just ruffles Cas' hair and waves goodbye to both of them. Cas has a deer-in-the-headlights look on him to match his newly-disheveled hair, and Jimmy laughs to himself on his way to tell Bela and Benny he's headed home.

 

He hopes he's making the right choice. 


	7. The Force Is Strong With This One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For maybe the first time in Dean's life, there's a slice of pie in front of him and it's not what he wants to taste the most._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short and it's taken me so long to update! I mean, it's not much shorter or longer than any of the other updates, but I wanted it to be longer to make up for taking forever. Alas, this is where the chapter wanted to end and it's almost 1am and there you have it. Hopefully to be beta'd tomorrow. 
> 
> If it helps, I have a very good reason for being so late!
> 
> Those of you who don't follow me on tumblr might not be aware that I'm trying to raise $5,000 for Random Acts in hopes of joining them on their Haiti trip this year. It's their last trip over there and my last chance to go, so the pressure's on! If you like my writing and would like to help out, I'd seriously appreciate it if you'd [donate](http://www.crowdrise.com/hopetohaiti2013/fundraiser/novak/) :D
> 
> But what does that have to do with getting an update out on time, you ask? WELL, I just so happen to be reviving Ugly Sweater 'Verse in honor of the cause! For every fundraising milestone I reach, there will be some sort of USV update. $500 milestones get drabbles and $1,000 milestones get full-length updates! AND, if you donate you get direct say in what happens (if you so choose). I'll happily apply that rule to Astral Projection, too, if you'd prefer that, but I'm focusing on USV because it's my baby and has a broader fanbase.
> 
> Oh, last thing! Keep an eye out on my blog for info about a livestream I'm planning. I'd like readers to come ask questions about USV and AP, but so far there's not enough interest. We'll see!

**Dean**

 

There's silence for a good, long minute after Jimmy goes, with Dean and Cas just staring at each other, eyes locked, mouths unmoving. Dean wishes Cas would say _something_ , because Dean sure as hell doesn't know what to say. They haven't even touched their food. Dean has never understood the phenomenon described as “butterflies in your stomach”, but he's pretty sure the fluttering in his stomach is exactly what everyone means by it. Jimmy had been a sort of buffer to that, Dean realizes in hindsight, and now that he's gone it's just Dean and Cas and Dean's stupid, awful feelings.

 

He wishes the tension wasn't so goddamn exciting.

 

“I hope Jimmy's okay,” Dean says finally, for lack of anything better to say. Cas frowns and picks up his napkin, folding it in half and then in half again.

 

“I don't think he was really sick. I believe he was faking,” Cas says, surprising Dean with his honesty. Dean's eyes widen, but he tries to recover gracefully.

 

“Seriously? I mean, I didn't think this was _that_ awkward,” he asks incredulously. _At least,_ he adds silently, _not until Jimmy left._

 

Castiel's napkin is a small square by now.

 

“I didn't think so either,” Cas comments, shrugging slightly. “I'll ask him about it later and explain to you, with his permission.”

 

Again, Dean's surprised by how transparent Cas is. There's no pretense with him, and Dean finds it refreshing. He's used to high school baseball players full of bravado and seemingly sick from testosterone poisoning. Cas is different, and Dean likes it more than he'd care to admit.

 

“Cool,” he says, taking a bite out his cheeseburger in attempts to make things less weird. “I'm sure he had a good reason.”

 

Cas nods, following Dean's lead and starting on his burger. His eyes flicker shut as he chews, making a nearly inaudible but sufficiently sinful noise – no, not sinful that's _gay –_ of gratification and sighing heavily after he swallows. Dean follows the movement of Cas' throat, his own throat going dry and he suddenly feels warm all over.

 

Dean looks away and licks his lips absently, just a slight flick of his tongue to wet his inexplicably parched lips. When he looks back, he finds Cas staring at him – and not at his eyes. Dean is pretty sure Cas' burning glance at his lips means exactly what he thinks it means, and a shock of excitement and nerves and dread shoots through him all at once. He doesn't know what to do with any of it.

 

He clears his throat and Cas starts, as though broken from a reverie, and quickly looks away.

 

This is going to be a long dinner.

 

 

 

 

**Castiel**

 

 _Dean is straight and your thoughts and behavior are unacceptable._ Castiel keeps telling himself this over and over, like a mantra, willing himself to reign in the awful butterflies that are threatening to kill him from the inside out. He has no memory of opening his mouth for these pesky insects, but he wants to be rid of them. Nothing will come of his senseless crush, and he aches to enjoy this moment for exactly what it is, without wishing it was something more.

 

 

“So, I gotta ask the inevitable,” Dean says after a bite of food. Dean talking with his mouth full shouldn't be as endearing as it is. “What's it like being a famous pop star?”

 

Castiel thinks about it a moment as he chews, and swallows before he answers.

 

“I like being able to sing for a living. It was always a dream of mine and Jimmy's growing up. Paparazzi and rumors are often difficult to deal with, and fans can be overwhelming at times, but the pleasure of performing is worth it.”  
  


Dean nods thoughtfully.

 

“I'd probably get sued the first time the paparazzi tried to take my picture without my permission for punching 'em in the face,” he says with a grin, and Castiel smiles the slightest bit.

 

“It is very tempting at times.”

 

Dean seems to hesitate, mouth opening as if to speak before closing it again. “So, what kind of music do you like?” he asks finally. “Like – is AP kinda music your thing, or would you rather be singing something else?”

 

Castiel finds it interesting that Dean called the band “AP”; typically only the devoted fans use the abbreviation.

 

“I prefer more quiet music, though I don't mind the music we produce. We've been pushing the producers to do a few acoustic songs, and we will probably have at least one on the next album.”

 

The way Dean's eyes light up at this information is not lost to Dean, despite how quickly Dean reigns it in. Castiel smiles again, and Dean smiles back.

 

“What about you, Dean? What kind of music do you like?”

 

Dean rises to the question with surprising enthusiasm. “Classic rock is the only way to go, man. AC/DC, Metallica, Led Zeppelin – back when rock was _pure_. Crazy guitar rifts like that just don't happen anymore.” Dean shakes his head a little wistfully and then pauses a moment before continuing. “I like soft rock sometimes, too, though. A little Bob Dylan or the Beatles never hurt anyone. And maybe I'm guilty of looking up acoustic covers of stuff on the internet, too. But don't let that get around.” He winks conspiratorially after that last bit.

 

Castiel can't remember the last time he was this pleased with new information.

 

“I love the Beatles,” he says quietly. “I sing them all the time.”

 

“Really?” Dean asks, eyes as wide as his grin. “I'd love to hear that someti – I mean, if you wanted – ”

 

“I would love to sing for you sometime, Dean,” Castiel says, surprised by how much he means it.

 

Dean sits back in his seat at that, an unreadable expression on his face. Castiel tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, enormous gratitude evident in his tone, and Cas thinks he may be breaking his own personal record for smiles in a conversation with someone other than his brother.

 

“My pleasure, Dean.”

 

Dean snorts, and Castiel furrows his brow again, confused.

 

“What's funny?” he asks, and Dean chuckles.

 

“You're so formal,” he says. “Like you use all these big words and you're all polite. You gotta loosen up a little, man.”

 

Castiel frowns.

 

“I don't understand. This is just how I talk.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes and playfully kicks Castiel's leg under the table. “It's pretty dorky, dude. I wonder if all your fangirls know how dweeby you are in real life.”

 

Castiel stares at Dean, deadpan, and Dean groans.

 

“I'm kidding, dude,” he says, kicking Castiel lightly again, and this time Castiel somewhat self-consciously kicks back. Dean returns it immediately, smirking, and Castiel is more confident when he does it again. When Jo comes by to check on them, it's become somewhat of a kicking war, and neither of them realize she's there at first. Castiel finds that she has a knowing smirk on her lips and a hand on her hip, eying Dean with no small amount of amusement. Dean doesn't notice she's there until he has one of Castiel's legs trapped between both of his own; only then does he look up in triumph and see her.

 

Castiel's not sure if he's imagining the reddish flush scattered across Dean's freckles or not.

 

“You guys ready for dessert?” she asks, tone light and amused.

 

Dean and Castiel exchange speculative looks.

 

“I'm somewhat full,” Castiel admits, albeit reluctantly. He doesn't want this to end, but he can't bring himself to lie, either.

 

“Then you guys can split it,” Jo offers cheerfully. “I recommend the apple pie – and I know for a fact Dean does, too. Ice cream or no ice cream?” she asks, not leaving any room for Castiel or Dean to protest.

 

“Ice cream,” Castiel says when Dean doesn't reply, and Jo nods and scribbles it down.

 

“Be right back,” she says, and practically skips off.

 

“Your friend seems happy,” Castiel comments, and this time Castiel is _sure_ Dean is blushing. Interesting.

 

“Yeah, I don't know what's gotten into her,” Dean says evasively, shrugging.

 

“Perhaps whatever's gotten into Jimmy,” Castiel remarks cautiously, wondering if it's the right thing to say, and he's surprised by the way Dean looks at him abruptly, eyes wide and thoughtful as though something is dawning on him.

 

“Dean?” Castiel prods, willing Dean to share whatever is going on in his mind, but Dean just shrugs slightly and gives an unconvincing smile.

 

“You haven't lived until you've tried Roadhouse apple pie,” Dean says, and Castiel reluctantly lets the train of thought drop. Dean's eyes are alight with anticipation of more food, and it's ample distraction.

 

*

**Dean**

 

Jimmy is totally trying to set them up.

 

The moment Cas unknowingly points it out is the moment it clicks for Dean. Jimmy's sudden 'food poisoning' is every bit as suspect as Jo's cheeriness – especially since Cas has confirmed that Jimmy probably isn't sick. Dean has no idea what this means or what he should do with the realization. Does this mean that Jimmy and Cas are... what, polyamorous? That Dean has Jimmy's blessing for Cas?

 

… Not that Dean _wants_ that or anything.

 

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” Cas says, smiling gently – and _goddamn_ , was Dean really the one to put that smile there? Again? He's lost track of how many interviews he's seen, and he can count Cas' smiles on one hand. They were almost always because of Jimmy. And now here Cas is, sitting in a booth in a restaurant with Dean, smiling shyly and refolding his napkin into small squares again. It's friggin' surreal.

 

“Awesome,” Dean says, grinning again because he sort of can't help it when Cas smiles. “Then you can really appreciate the magic that's about to happen in your mouth.”

 

Cas sort of clears his throat and looks at his hands at that, but Jo is back with their dessert before Dean has a chance to analyze that. She sets a plate with an oversized slice of pie with a huge scoop of ice cream on the table between them and hands them each a fork.

 

“Enjoy,” she says, winking at Cas as she goes, and Dean makes a mental note to never, ever, share a secret with Joanna Harvelle again. Cas stares blankly after her, brow furrowed and looking slightly bewildered.

 

“She's very strange,” Cas comments, and Dean laughs.

 

“That's Jo for you. But – dude. Pie here. We shouldn't be doing anything but tearing into it, man. Come on, I wanna know what you think.”

 

As eager as Dean is to try his own bite of pie, he's a little too invested in Cas' reaction to trying it. He doesn't even lift his fork when Cas does, can't tear his eyes away as Cas raises it to his mouth and bites, slow, clearly working the utensil clean with his tongue. His eyes shut the same way they did earlier, and he makes the same blissed-out noise that should probably be rendered illegal in all non-bedroom situations. For maybe the first time in Dean's life, there's a slice of pie in front of him and it's not what he wants to taste the most.

 

“Clearly the Force is strong with this one,” Dean quips, trying to lighten the moment. Cas' eyes open, all blue and too damn pretty for their own good, and he tilts his head to the side, confusion written in his features.

 

“I don't understand that reference,” he says – which. Whoa. _Whoa_. This is too much for Dean to process. His jaw drops and he gives Cas the same look he gave Sam the one time Sam declared that he “doesn't really like classic rock”. Cas looks somewhat affronted and even more confused.

 

“Tell me you've seen Star Wars,” Dean says, and Cas at least has the grace to look sheepish.

 

“I could, but I would be lying to you.”

 

This is _unacceptable_. Dean's already sort of subconsciously accepted that Cas is as close to perfect as someone with a dick could possibly be – but a lack of Star Wars literacy might just ruin that. If it's not one of the seven deadly sins to have _not_ seen Star Wars at age 18, it sure as hell should be.

 

Dean makes a decision.

 

“You're coming over and watching them with me. All of them. I'm not even asking, man. This has to happen. You're lacking a major life experience and you don't even _know_ it.”

 

Cas seems to analyze the request, going quiet for a moment, looking at Dean. Dean busies himself with the pie, suddenly self-conscious of his brazenness. Cas _is_ a celebrity after all. You can't exactly go bossing someone around whose net worth is literally $10 million dollars.

 

“I'd like that,” Cas says slowly, finally, and once Dean swallows he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

 

“When?” Cas adds, and there's... something, in his voice. Something _charged_. A challenge, maybe. Dean's taken off guard; the question takes the notion from an idea to a tangible thing. He speaks without hesitation.

 

“Tonight.” 


End file.
